Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I bring in my brows and meet her gaze once more. My heart slams into my ribs, and a ball of emotion threatens to choke me. “E? What is going on?”
“We’re getting married.”
She says the words with such conviction that my heart skips a beat. “What? No. Where is everyone? Where is Ava?”
Her eyes darken as she presses her lips into a thin line. “Who cares? It’s you and me. The way it’s supposed to be.”
She reaches for my hand, but I move away so she can’t grasp it. If she touches me, I’ll do anything she asks. I’ll throw every fucking thing away and marry her.
Fuck. I want to.
I want to choose Emery over and over.
For the rest of my existence.
“No, this isn’t right. What is happening? I’m supposed to be marrying Ava.”
That grin fills her face once more, the sneaky one that ties me all in knots. For one, I love how wicked she looks, and it excites me. I’m the only one who sees the true parts of Emery. All her secrets, her desires—her true self belongs to me. She always has, and she always will.
Or she would, if I weren’t marrying Ava.
Breathless, I say, “Please don’t tell me you killed her.”
She scoffs. “No, not today.” Her eyes dance with mine, promise and heat in her gaze. “I’m not worried about her. You’re mine, Quinn.”
“Em, no. I am marrying her.”
Her lips curve even more, and with a cheekiness only Emery can embody, she says, “I told you we’d see, Quinn Phillips Adler.” She steps closer, taking my tie in her hand and pulling me down to her. I get lost in her eyes as she moves her lips only a breath from mine. “You are mine, and you aren’t marrying anyone but me.”
Just as her lips capture mine, a ringing has the scene in front of me fading away like magic from a Harry Potter movie, and I sit up in a cold sweat. As I gasp for breath, I look around to find that I’m in my apartment, in my bed. The muted gray and black of my room brings me back to reality, and I realize it was all a dream.
Fucking hell.
I cover my face with my hands as I draw in deep breaths, unsure what the fuck that dream was about. Problem is, I’ve been having the same one for the last week. I don’t know why. Or maybe I do.
It’s the guilt. I feel like I’m betraying Emery, but at the same time, she left me. She moved to California; she made a life for herself out there and left me behind. She wasn’t ready for us, as she said. She didn’t want to be tied down. She had goals, plans, and since I didn’t want to go forward with EMQUINNY, she left me behind.
That’s fine.
I’m moving on.
I have to.
I have no choice.
I have my own goals, my own plans to ultimately make my family proud.
But fuck if I don’t miss her.
I miss her all the time, if I’m honest with myself. Emery is not only the love of my life, but she is my best friend.
Or was.
Shit, I don’t know.
I draw in a few more deep breaths before my ringing phone fills my space once more. I reach for it, seeing that it’s Benson. One of, in all the ways that matter, my siblings. The dream has me so fucked up, I can’t even be excited to see his name. Benson has been a constant in my life for the last five years, and we were also roommates before he left. He’s been gone for over a month, in Chicago after getting drafted to the Blackhawks. While they are the rivals of my family’s team, the Nashville Assassins, we are all very proud of him. I’ve always wanted the best for him, and now he is off living his hockey dreams with his dream girl.
Meanwhile, I’m here marrying someone I don’t love, not a hockey star like my twin brothers, and wishing my bride was my dream girl.
Life is weird.
“Bro,” he says when I answer, and I drop my hand from my face.
“What? You good?”
“Yeah, fine—”
“Cameron?” I ask about his fiancée since he sounds a bit off. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” he says, his voice less panicked when he speaks of her. “But listen, I fucked up.”
My brows draw in even more. “What happened? Do you need me to come to you?”
I’m already getting out of bed before he can answer. “No. Listen, don’t get mad.”
Why do people say that? For me, any time someone asks me not to get mad, I get fucking mad. I head to the kitchen for a bottle of water. “What did you do?”
“Emery called me.”
My heart skips a beat in my chest as I pause in my kitchen. “Okay?”