Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
On top of all that, there’s the case of the missing inheritance.
Well, it’s not so missing anymore. My father was found guilty of inheritance theft, not that he’s actually here to be charged with it, and considering everything, the courts were quick to rule that everything Axel left for me was returned as it should have always been. Only, over the past two years, my father did a great job at spending as much of Axel’s wealth as he possibly could, drinking it away like the foul, pathetic loser he was. However, the money will soon be returned to me after the sale of the old Michigan home goes through.
As the sole living relative, the house became mine after my father’s death, but I wanted nothing to do with it, and despite the good memories I had of my mother and the boys, I was all too willing to say goodbye to it and welcome a new beginning away from that part of my life.
Thank God for therapy, right? But also, thank God for the money Axel left me because, with all these therapy bills, I’m going to be blowing through it in no time.
The tempo starts to rise, and I jump up and down like the rest of the crazed fans in the crowd, recognizing Ezra’s cue, and like lightning, he shoots up into the sky with fireworks exploding around him. The label took no shortcuts tonight, wanting this show to be the best one they’ve ever put on, and despite Ezra only having been on stage for a mere moment, they’re already exceeding all expectations.
Ezra lands in a low crouch, his gaze flicking right to mine as though the tether between us is calling him to me. He grins, and his eyes sparkle with wicked desire, warning me that the moment he’s done here, he intends to take me back to the hotel suite and spend the rest of our lives making me feel alive.
He takes his microphone, and the opening lyrics of “Hypothetically Yours” fill the stadium as the beat of the drum vibrates right through the ground and into my body. It’s electrifying.
Why the hell have I been wasting the past four months watching the boys from the wing when I should have been watching them from right here?
Madds loses her mind beside me, not even having spent the last few months in close proximity to the guys has done anything to dull that crazy fangirl spirit of hers, and I love that about her. And I love it even more that Dylan isn’t put off by it. He embraced her crazy, just as she embraced his.
She screams the lyrics of mine and Ezra’s story beside me, clutching my hand in a death grip as I watch my man perform for his loyal fans, my heart racing a million miles an hour. When he glances down at me in the crowd and sings the most adoring words about being hypothetically mine, his eyes sparkle with the most sincere kind of love, and I’ve never been happier in my life.
The first few songs pass in a flurry of wild emotion, and when the heat ramps up and the boys really start enjoying themselves, Madds tugs on my arm. “Check this out,” she says, holding up her phone for me to see.
My brows furrow, having to grab it to see the screen properly as Madds continues jumping around beside me, and I find the text chain between Madds and Dylan, more specifically the discreet text he just sent her while on stage.
Dylan - Quick question. If I sacrifice the moon and the stars for you, then in the very least, would you sacrifice uranus for me?
“The fuck?” I laugh, glancing up at Dylan to find his eyes locked on us, laughing as he realizes I’ve just seen his text. But what I love most is the way he owns it, not ashamed in the least.
Madds can’t help herself. She grabs her phone back, and I watch over her shoulder as she types out her response.
Madds - Abso-freakin-lutely! But give a girl some warning. You can’t just go poking around her black hole without first letting her take a ride down the big dipper and into your milky way.
She hits send, and I watch the frustration on Dylan’s face knowing he has a text but not being able to check it right away. Their flirty and shamefully sexual texts are their kryptonite. It’s partly how their relationship began, and with each daring text, they get crazier about one another. It’s the same for how Ezra writes songs about me. It’s how they communicate, and I love it for them. Hell, I also love it for me, especially when their crazy texts finally gave me the courage to open my own phone and send the kind of text to Ezra that fifteen-year-old me could have only dreamed of sending. I’ve never been so raunchy in my life, but I liked it, and I liked it even more when he checked the text and came running.