Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Brenna ignores them, her expression so smoothed out, I know it’s costing her. She takes a sip of her cocktail. “My cousin is surprisingly forthright.”
“You think I’m a jerk, don’t you?” I need another drink.
“God, no.” She leans against my shoulder in a show of support. “You’re protecting yourself in a shit world. Doesn’t mean he’ll like it.”
“I thought I was protecting myself,” I tell her, misery swamping me faster than the alcohol can numb it. “But thinking back on how I felt when that reporter questioned me, I think I’d rather tell the world to fuck themselves than cower.”
Brenna knows all about my run in with Ms. Zelda Smith. “Yeah, well, Zelda didn’t seem to have a problem fucking a band member, so she can’t exactly throw stones.”
“Honestly, I don’t want the public in my business. Ever. But that’s more about being a private person in general.”
“They don’t have to be. Famous people hide their relationships all the time. Well…” She gives me an apologetic smile. “For as long as they can, anyway.”
Famous. I want to laugh. I’m not famous. But Killian is. And his life is just coming back into focus.
“If it were just me and him? I might not mind so much. But the guys are getting back together. Jax clearly didn’t want me joining them.”
“You’re protecting them.” She sounds genuinely surprised.
“Is that so wrong?”
A frown works over her face, and she turns her attention toward the part of the room where the guys are now laughing in a group—well, except for Rye, who is making noises so lewd I really don’t want to look.
Brenna’s expression softens as she watches Killian and Whip do some weird sort of hip bump, as if they’re demonstrating a dance move to a bunch of starry-eyed women. “You should have seen them before Jax… They were like a bunch of puppies.” She laughs, takes a drink. “We all were, really. Even Scottie. It was this wild ride, never coming down, party, play, party.”
Emptiness fills me. I can’t be that girl. I don’t want to be.
Brenna glances at me. “It was all bullshit, though. Nothing real. When Jax tried to— It broke us all.”
“Killian said as much—about it shaking them up.”
“He’s right. Yanked us out of childhood.” She shakes her head, pursing her glossy red lips. “It’s not a bad thing, Libby. Living like that wasn’t healthy. These boys, they had nothing to ground them. Nothing that meant anything.”
The music changes to “Right Now” by Mary J. Blige, and a woman pulls Killian out to dance. He lets her. He’s not doing anything lewd. Just dancing. Doesn’t change the fact that another woman has her hands on him, swaying and grinding with the beat.
Brenna talks quietly in my ear. “Life moves forward, Libby. Trying to stop it or rewind is a waste of energy.”
Watching Killian dance cuts into my heart. I can’t breathe. I have never been a jealous person. I can safely say it’s the worst emotion on earth. And now it writhes inside me until I want to throw up just to get rid of the feeling.
All the things I’ve said to him, all the things he’s said to me, the things we’ve done—all of it—whirl around in my brain. I think about that day I first saw him sprawled on my lawn. If I had picked up the phone and called the police instead of engaging with him, I’d be blissfully ignorant right now. Safely hidden away from the world. From life. A life without Killian.
When the woman’s hand drifts to Killian’s butt, I stand, knocking into the table. Drinks slosh, the table screeches.
“Excuse me,” I mutter to Brenna, who wisely scrambles out of my way.
My exit from the table is far from graceful, more like a bulldozer pushing everything out of its way. And Killian’s head jerks up, his eyes finding mine. A worried look works across his face.
I can only stare back, drinking in the sight of him.
His dark hair, cropped close to his well-shaped skull, highlights the sharp curve of his cheek bones, the slashes of his brows, and the soft curl of his lips. He is a beautiful man. Dressed in a black button-down shirt and black slacks, he also looks nothing like the man I found drunk on my lawn. Here, he is the slick millionaire, the effortlessly cool rocker, an untouchable idol everyone wants a piece of.
People surround him, a wall of human flesh between him and me. I ignore it all. This isn’t what’s real.
His frown grows as I walk, my steps determined. Inside, my heart is pounding. I don’t know what he sees in my face, but his careful expression shatters. Dark eyes fill with purpose, his body standing taller. He excuses himself and moves, liquid grace, powerful strides.
I start to shake, deep within me. Desire I can handle. But the emotion in his face, as if he knows—he knows—I’m breaking apart, and he is too, blurs my vision. I blink twice and go to him, shouldering people aside.