Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“Ahhh…” Nial takes the glass that my finger was happily playing with, throwing it back before slamming the glass onto the table. “Makes sense. To protect a monster, one must be a monster.”
I shuffle to the side, readjusting my position. “What did you say this place was?”
Nial hitches his thumb over his shoulder. “I don’t know. I stumbled in here last week and they didn’t card me, so figure, why not try it again, and sure enough—it worked again.”
I look around the place, noting the dim lighting and the soft music that’s playing through the space. The woman on the stage playing a remake of “Tennessee Whiskey” raises her head, her eyes coming to mine. I have never seen her in my life, yet she studies me like she has been waiting for me to walk through the doors.
My phone vibrating in my pocket distracts me, and I grab it out to see Keaton’s name flashing over the screen.
My stomach flips as though I’ve just been caught doing something I shouldn’t have been doing. I squash it down with an iron fist before swiping the green arrow to answer.
“Yes?”
Silence. “Where are you?” Keaton and I have danced to the same tune since we were probably too young to recognize the feelings we were both experiencing. This isn’t anything new, but what is new—thanks to the two things I call legs that opened faster than I could tell myself no—is the heat that seems to pool between my thighs any time I think of our night together. Or that anxiety that coils around my belly like live wire whenever he’s around. These are all new. Keaton is hot, sure—they all are. Except my brother, of course. Gross. But Keaton has always been different. He never hid his demons, he trained them to stand at his side so people knew exactly who they were dealing with when they met the deep depths of his hazel eyes.
“I’m at a bar with Nial. Where are you…?” I feel my cheeks tighten as a smile spreads over my face. When my eyes collide with Nial, my smile falls. Shit. “No, but seriously…”
“In the air somewhere between the US and Turkey.” Jealousy digs its ugly claws into my chest when I hear everyone laughing in the background. No doubt they took the 747 and are all having the time of their lives up there while I’m down here, drinking in a shady bar.
I cross my leg over the other, pointedly ignoring Nial. Thankfully, it isn’t loud, and the woman who was on the stage earlier has left. “What’s with the phone call?”
“Wondering how you’re coping with your newfound freedom, since Ky decided to leave your leash loose. Didn’t expect a bar. You’re fucking seventeen.”
“Hmmm, the same way I didn’t expect you to be who you are either…”
Silence again.
“Cartier…” His tone is low, just enough for me to hear a distinct growl at the end of the R. “Get outside somewhere quiet so I can actually talk to you and do it now.”
“Or what?” I play, noticing the woman re-entering the stage, only now with a different dress on. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, her eyes now rimmed with dark hollows. She has tried to hide it with concealer, but it hasn’t held well. “You’re all the way up in the air.” I lower my voice but stand quietly from the table, holding up two fingers to Nial to gesture two minutes. “What could you possibly do to me, hmm?”
As soon as the outside air slaps me across the face, I feel alone with him. Leaning against the concrete wall, I breathe out a sigh of relief from being out of the confinement of the bar.
His laughter rolls right down the crack of my spine. “You really think I can’t have you naked, spread eagle, and finger fucking yourself to the sound of my voice if I don’t want you to?” His words settle between my thighs and they clench together to stop from reaching further. I can hear someone in the background. “Tigger, do you really think I can’t have you naked, wet, and waiting for me when I land? Whether that be tomorrow, two weeks…”
My throat dries and my eyes slam closed. I’m going to need to talk myself down if I want my heart to stop thrashing against my ribcage like a cellmate on death row.
“What are you wearing?” he adds barely above a whisper.
“I—a leather skirt and puffer jacket.” My tongue slides over my bottom lip as I look down the street. People are walking by without a clue. One woman is walking her lap dog while yelling at someone down her phone. Another is looking down at the ground with sad eyes, unable to hold eye contact with anyone.