Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“I was waiting for your Frankenface to heal,” Remy scoffs.
Huh? Afraid I’d melt into a puddle at his feet if I looked at him too closely, I’d looked everywhere but Griff’s face tonight.
The urge to return to the kitchen almost moves my feet in that direction.
No.
I’m going to my room.
Hopefully they don’t kill each other.
Griff
My chest’s so tight I can barely breathe. Having Molly so close again and not touching her is fucking torture. Why’d I do this to myself tonight? Remy and I could’ve talked about this any time. It didn’t have to be now.
But I needed to see Molly again.
And you wanted to know if Torch dropped her off and drove away or if he came inside.
Thank fuck I heard his car leave.
But now I’m obsessing about her being alone with Torch in his car. It sounded like they sat out there for a while. What the fuck were they up to? What do they even have in common to talk about? Why was her lipstick smeared? Nope. Can’t dwell on that question too long or my head will explode.
“Oh, yeah?” I poke him in the chest, knowing full well how much he hates that. “What’s stopping you?”
He lightly slaps the unscarred side of my face. “I was waiting for your Frankenface to heal,” Remy scoffs.
“You’re just mad that, Frankenface or not, I’m still better looking than you.”
He chuckles and backs up a step. “You wish.”
I want to follow Molly upstairs. Force her to really talk to me this time. Instead, I’m stuck with Remy insulting my face and threatening to kick my ass.
He cocks his head and his gaze strays toward the living room. “On second thought, I don’t think I want to sell off my part of The Castle to you.”
What the fuck is he talking about?
“Why?” That was going to be the only way I could give Remy some of my earnings from the show. The stubborn fucker sure as shit won’t let me give him the money.
“Because I don’t want to.”
I narrow my eyes and study him. Why’s he fucking with me like this? “All right. Well, we should talk about what we want to do with it, don’t you think?”
He reels back as if I’d slapped him, which I haven’t ruled out yet tonight. “You don’t want to host fight nights anymore?”
I run my fingers through my hair and stare at my boots for a few seconds. “As you’ve so charmingly pointed out,” I wave my hand in front of my face, “I might draw unwanted attention to our little operation now.”
“Oh,” he sighs. “Right. So be a silent partner.”
I cock my head and give him my best are you stupid face. “Because I’m so good at staying silent?”
“Well what else do you want to do with the place?”
“Fix it up and use it as our clubhouse. Have a base of operation for our support club.” I had a lot of time to think about it over the last few months and it makes the most sense.
He stares at me for a few beats and now I’m getting the are you stupid vibe. “You think making a bigger commitment to the Lost Kings right now is a good idea?” He waves his fingers in front of my face. “In light of all your newfound fame and all?”
He’s got a point.
“Besides,” he continues, “I thought that’s the last place you’d ever want to spend another night?”
“That’s why I said fix it up.”
“Not what I meant, and you know it.” He frowns as if he’s actually considering the idea. “That’s going to cost a fuck ton of money.”
“It doesn’t have to. If we do some of the work ourselves.”
“Because we’re such good contractors and have so much free time?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“Don’t be a dick. I’m serious.” I take a beat and brace myself for the reaction I’m going to get to the next thing I want to tell Remy. “There’s some talk about a professional fight I might be offered. In Vegas. They’re throwing around some big numbers just for me showing up.”
He stares at me.
And stares.
Finally, he opens his big, opinionated mouth. “You’re not seriously considering taking it, are you?”
“Uh, six figures, fuck yes, I’m considering it. You wouldn’t?”
He’s silent for so long, he doesn’t have to answer. Of course he would say yes.
“Actual fighters don’t make that kind of money. What’s the angle?”
That had been my first thought too, but I’m not admitting it to Remy. “It’s just because I was on the show.”
“Where does this end, Griff?” Remy steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. “You gonna keep stepping in the ring until you end up looking like a splattered jack-o-lantern who speaks like he’s got scrambled eggs for brains?”
“Well, that’s…insulting.” I run my hand through my hair. “And no. I’m sure they’ll get tired of me eventually. I might as well ride it and rake up the cash while I still can.”