Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Confident she won’t remember our conversation in the morning, and still desperate for answers, I say, “I want to know why you’re pissed at me.” With one truth comes another. “And why you dogged me like that.”
She spins to face me so fast that the shot of whiskey the bartender served me from the recently opened bottle clatters to the floor. “I dogged you?” Her pfft sprinkles my face with spit. “You’re not the one who woke up in an empty bed.”
“I went to run an errand.” When she rolls her eyes, I defend myself like she isn’t my best friend’s girl. “I left you a note.”
“Let me guess, you wrote it in my songbook?” She doesn’t take in my head bob before knocking me on my ass. Figurately. I’m already seated, remember? “Before you stole it.”
“I didn’t steal anything. I’m not a thief.”
“Then what did you do to get that?” She kicks my ankle tracker with the toe of her pump. “Knox told me you defrauded the government, but I’m not sure I believe him.” She looks at me as if she trusts me more than him. “Is it true? Did you defraud the government?”
“Pretty much so,” I bite back, over both our conversation and the constant repercussions of a hasty decision I made years ago while under the influence. “I lied to keep a promise I’d made to River. I guess some people would see that as defrauding the government.” When my reply has her looking at me in a way she hasn’t previously—with pity—I say, “Grab your purse. You’re at your limit, so you won’t be served more alcohol tonight.”
She yanks out of my hold when I curl my hand around her elbow. It isn’t hard. I’m barely touching her, but she makes it seem as if I’m squeezing her heart of blood. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Why the fuck not? You had no problems spending time with me when I buried my head between your legs.”
She swings for me. Her hit isn’t an open-handed slap or a fairy tap to my stomach. She swings for my face with her fist and almost takes me down with one punch.
After righting my head to its original position and working my jaw side to side to ensure nothing is broken, I once again curl my hand around her elbow before tugging her off her seat. “I’m not asking, Nicole. We’re leaving. Now.”
When her heels digging into the carpet get me nowhere fast, I wrap my arm around her ass, then toss her onto my shoulder. The wig she’s using to hide the shame on her face falls to the ground as her fists whack into my back.
“Put me down! Just because you’re the first man to give me head doesn’t make you the boss of me.” Her reply blasts excitement through my veins. It only lasts as long as it takes to remember Knox is a selfish man. “No one is the boss of me!”
She beats into me until we enter the elevator, and its lurch as it springs into action swirls her stomach more than the whiskey she’s struggling to keep down.
“I’m going to put you down now, but don’t take that as me backing down. I’ll carry you all the way to Ravenshoe if it’s the only way I can guarantee you’ll make it to your bed in one piece. Do you hear me, Nicole? I’m not playing with your safety like this, and you mean too fucking much to me to sit back and watch you fall.”
I take her silence as acceptance of my warning.
She sways when I place her onto her feet, but she doesn’t bolt for the elevator panel to select the next floor as I’m anticipating. Instead, she hits me with a mood-sobering fact. “They hate me. They said I should quit singing and join the circus because that’s where clowns belong.” Her eyes are on me, wet and full of pain. “I should have listened to you. You tried to warn me. I just…”
“Handed your voice to someone else.” I’m not asking a question or trying to make her feel bad. I’m endeavoring to show her it’s okay to put your faith in someone who doesn’t deserve it. We all make mistakes. I’m a walking billboard for them. “There’s no shame in that. You’ve just got to remember that no one knows you better than you. Not Knox. Not your friends. Not even me. You know you.”
When the elevator arrives at our floor, she blinks several times before helming our silent walk to her room. I stray my eyes to the floor when she commences stripping out of her coat and slinky dress at the foot of her untouched bed.
The reason for her hundred nightcaps makes sense when my eyes land on her iPhone dumped on the rug under her bed. It is playing a live broadcast of her rehearsal earlier. I know it is from today because she executes a kick that took her three days to perfect.