Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Romeo Costa: Since when do you care about doing the right thing?
Ollie vB: It’s the least I can do after breaking her heart.
Zach Sun: Better break a heart than bust your own balls.
Romeo Costa: Poor Zach. He finally discovered sex and is no longer capable of a thought from the head above his shoulders.
Ollie vB: Speaking of endangered balls, you two are still coming for dinner tonight, right?
Romeo Costa: Unfortunately. Dallas has taken a liking to your fiancée.
Ollie vB: Fake* fiancée.
Zach Sun: Real* feelings.
Ollie vB: All I feel for her is sympathy and guilt.
Romeo Costa: That’s already more emotion than you’ve shown to all the women you’ve been with combined over the past fifteen years.
Ollie vB: And yet … still not as much as Zachary Sun, humiliating himself in front of an entire stadium of sporting fans, in the grovel of all grovels. You’re lucky no one managed to film it, or you’d be an internet sensation.
Zach Sun: The AI detects Grade-A deflection. You sound like you’re spiraling.
Ollie vB: If I’m spiraling, it’s only because Dallas bought Briar a notebook.
Romeo Costa: Hmm … that’s oddly collegiate of her. I’m … dare I say … proud?
Zach Sun: And the problem is?
Ollie vB: And the problem is, Briar scribbles in it every time I say something like a therapist after her client tells her they think they’re living in a simulation.
Zach Sun: Oddly specific.
Romeo Costa: Admit it, von Bismarck. The possibility of Briar finding out the truth scares you shitless.
Zach Sun: The so-called last one standing is now on his knees.
Ollie vB: Sorry to disappoint, but I’m only in this position for intense oral.
Romeo Costa: I give it two weeks.
Zach Sun: I give it one.
Ollie vB: What are we betting on?
Romeo Costa: Your motor yacht.
Ollie vB: Fine. And if the two weeks are up and I am still blissfully not in love, you are both going to invest in my start up.
Zach Sun: For the last time, Oliver, there is no market for taco glue.
Ollie vB: THERE SHOULD BE. Those things fall apart faster than Dallas’s self-control at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Zach Sun: Don’t order crunchy tacos, then.
Ollie vB: I don’t like soft tacos. They’re soggy. Makes me feel like I’m chewing on a wet kitchen towel.
Romeo Costa: Glue is not the answer.
Zach Sun: Unless the question is: what can you get high on if you’re a broke high school junior?
Ollie vB: My bet. My rules. You’re going to invest in this start up if I win.
Romeo Costa: Sure. But you won’t win.
Ollie vB: Get your pockets ready, gentlemen.
Zach Sun: Famous last words.
Chapter Forty-Five
Oliver
Briar’s snore burst through the still air like the boom of a gong.
If our earlier incident in the shower affected her in any way, she gave no indication. In fact, she’d fallen asleep in less than a minute, dozing off the second her skull hit the pillow.
And where the hell did that come from?
I’d expected a fight after our showdown at Baylor. Both of us had practically hummed with pent-up frustration, which I leashed by telling myself that she’d leave soon.
Everything would return to its fucked-up, utterly depressing, mind-numbing place. I would go back to my happy-free life. She would return to her job in LA.
No promises would be broken. No drastic lies exchanged. And absolutely no touching.
What I hadn’t expected was to almost die of blue balls because the hottest woman I’d ever met decided to perform Cirque du Soleil naked in front of me.
I stretched my hearing as far as it would go, seeking signs of life from the south wing, knowing I couldn’t logically catch anything from here. Even with my ears pressed to his bedroom door, I’d never hear my brother.
Sebastian liked to remain utterly silent just to torture me.
He knew I read too deep into every sign of life, assigning hope where it didn’t belong.
The hours ticked by in silence, save for the occasional snore from Briar.
Like every night since I’d destroyed the von Bismarck family, I fought sleep. This had become my ritual since the first night, when I discovered that my mistake replayed in my nightmares the second I closed my eyes.
Fifteen years had passed, and still, I knew with utter certainty what awaited me on the other side of my eyelids. The splash of water. The engine’s roars. The frightening silence. And the blood. So much blood.
I’d tried therapy, drugs, acupuncture, hypnosis. Red light, meditation, exercising myself to exhaustion. Nothing worked. It would come, as it always did, and I’d fight it until I no longer could. And then, the next day, the persistent bastard would return for the same reason.
Nightmares are the mind’s way of reminding you where it hurts.
With the sheets bunched around my waist, I tossed and turned, counted sheep, recalled every moment before my brutal mistake, and gave up. The sound machine beaconed me. I flicked on the white noise, setting the timer to shut off an hour and a half before I knew Briar would wake.