Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
“Fuck, you hit Enzo? This shit has to be bad.” He’s not wrong. It took me all night to blow off steam, and even then it didn’t defuse the situation, no matter how many weights I lifted or how much running I did on the treadmill in my private in-home gym. I’d calm down, stop thinking about it, and then I’d replay Enzo’s idea in my head, pissing me off all over again.
“You have no fucking idea.” The thought of losing days and nights with Journey put me in a tailspin. There’s a reason I’ve kept her under lock and key, not allowing anyone to see us together in public. It’s not because I’m this massive dick, though I’m sure she doesn’t agree with that statement. The truth of the matter is, she’s my ultimate downfall. Adversaries could take me down within a minute if they only threatened to hurt her. I’d gladly sink to my knees, drop the weapons I carry with me at any given time if it meant no harm would come to her.
“No time like the present,” Wylder responds. Swear to God, if I’m on the receiving end of Journey’s brothers’ fist, shit is going to get nasty.
“Hey, Nico.” Celeste walks in at that moment, not looking flustered at all, unlike Wylde, who wasn’t trying to hide the prideful walk earlier.
“Hello,” I respond. I stand up just as she heads for Wylde. They do their usual goodbye, taking a few minutes, and I don’t want to disturb them or watch as they do so. I may have some kink fetishes, but seeing those two together is not one of them. Besides, something tells me I could use a low ball of bourbon to get through the conversation we’re about to have.
EIGHT
Journey
I woke up cold. That should have been my first clue in the knowledge that as much as I’d hoped for Nico to come over last night, he didn’t. It was selfish to ask, which is why I didn’t. He works days and nights along with every hour in between. If he’s not careful, he’ll work himself into an early grave. That thought makes my chest tighten, my teeth grit, and now I’m the one who is worried as much as Nico probably is.
I’ve got too much on my plate today. The first thing is definitely lugging all the bags of clothes down to my car. Knowing my luck, it won’t all fit, and I’ll be taking two trips. I roll out of bed and check my phone that I kept on my nightstand all night long with the sound on, my least favorite thing to do, but I made a promise, and there’s one thing I won’t ever be accused of: breaking one. There’re no alerts, no texts, or missed calls. I’ve been known to sleep through a phone call on the rare occasion, and after last night’s heavy wine drinking, I slept like a log. I’m talking my eyes were hard to open, bleary when doing so, drool dried on my face, and the oversized sweatshirt and pajama bottoms I’m wearing are definitely haphazard in appearance when I take a look at myself after walking into the bathroom.
“Jesus, Journey. Next time, know your limit,” I say to the mirror once I get there, squinting my eyes at the bright light in the room. My hair is in a messy bun, except most of it is out and off to the side in a similar fashion to the eighties, and my normally cute curtain bangs, yep, those are sticking straight up. That resembles a nineties movie, the one where she thinks its gel but it’s anything but. Ben Stiller and Cameron Diaz rocked that movie, even if I was too young to be watching it. Thank you, older brother. Mom had a field day. Dad just laughed and said it’s better than watching it with some other idiot or a boy.
I go through my morning routine, washing my face, brushing my teeth, starting the shower, tempted to kick up the air conditioning to a higher degree, seeing as how I need to add washing my hair to the list as well. That thought is interrupted when my phone starts going off in the other room. I mentally pull up my calendar worrying that I had a brand meeting or maybe one with my manager, but nothing is ringing any bells. Apparently, that means there’s a need for speed. I propel my body like I’m running a marathon, except I’m not running on all cylinders. There’s a little thing called coffee that is the nectar of the gods in all aspects, a necessity for me in all areas of life when it comes to mornings. It doesn’t matter if I only have a few sips or the aroma permeates the air. Literally, that’s all it takes. So, while I’m haphazard on my quick jaunt from my bathroom to my bed, I land unladylike, belly first, reaching for my phone, hitting the green button to answer the call when I realize it’s Nico.