Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“I don’t have murderous urges,” I say, slipping the photo back into the folder and flipping it closed.
“And I’m not on the waiting list for a willow wood paddle and a collectible cock ring at Dungeon Supply on Eighth Avenue,” Harlow shoots back.
“Ew!” Evie says, covering her ears with her hands. “That’s my brother you’re talking about. Please stop.”
“She’s just getting revenge for all the times you rubbed your sexy times happiness in our faces when you and Ian first got together,” Jess says dryly. “But yes, Harlow, please keep your exotic fuckery to yourself before you frighten my trembling virgin ears.”
Harlow snorts. “As if. Once you get started, you’re going to be kinkier than the rest of us put together. It’s always the nerdy ones. Like the band geeks in high school. Innocent-looking, instrument-toting nerds by day; meeting up for orgies under the bleachers by night.”
I push my chair back. “I need to do laundry.”
“Are you sure? Are you okay?” Evie asks. “We can come down to the laundry room with you if you want to keep talking this out.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. At least not until I talk to Nat,” I say, forcing a smile. “But thanks. And thanks for looking out for me. I appreciate it.”
And I do. But a part of me wishes Jess’s instincts had been wrong or that she’d waited to do her sleuthing for just a few more weeks. With every passing day, my relationship with Natalie is growing stronger. But is it strong enough to survive a lie this big?
I don’t know. I truly fucking don’t.
I take longer than usual with my laundry and chores around the apartment, then drag my feet on the way back to Nat’s place, dreading seeing her again for the first time since the night we met. I’ve always hated conflict, ever since I was a kid, but I really don’t want to fight with Natalie. Yet, I know that’s what’s coming.
Yes, I want to rip her abusive ex to pieces with my bare hands, but I’m frustrated with Nat, too. Frustrated and…hurt.
Why didn’t she tell me the truth?
Doesn’t she trust me? Doesn’t she know I want to be there for her, no matter how scary or ugly things get? Doesn’t she want to be a team, a united front, as much as I do?
Or did she take my lie of omission about my virgin status the night we first hooked up as carte blanche to keep her own cards close to her chest? And if so, do I have a right to be angry about it, even though her secret is way more dangerous than mine?
Those questions and a dozen others are swirling through my head as I step into her building. I’m so distracted I don’t hear Che, the doorman who works the night shift, calling my name until I’m nearly to the elevator.
I turn when he calls for the third or fourth time, shaking my head with a rush of breath. “Sorry, man. It’s been a long day. What were you saying?”
“She’s not home yet,” Che says, a concerned expression on his face.
The elevator dings and I step away from the entrance, hitching my backpack higher on my shoulder as the doors open and Mrs. Greer emerges. She sniffs in disapproval of my general existence and breezes past me toward the mailboxes at the back of the lobby without a word, the way she has every time our paths have crossed since that first morning in the hall.
But that’s fine with me.
I have bigger things to worry about than a nosy neighbor.
“Oh, okay,” I say to Che as I join him by the doorman’s desk, leaning an arm on the counter. “Maybe they decided to stop by the store or something on the way home from the movies. I’ll just wait in one of the couches by the window.” I fight to ignore the ominous voice in my head insisting the fact that Nat hasn’t given me a key to her place is another sign that she isn’t in as deep as I am.
I offered her a key to my apartment on our third date. She didn’t take me up on it, but still…
“Yeah, maybe,” Che says, his tanned brow still furrowed. “Hopefully. It’s just kind of weird that the first time a strange guy comes by the desk asking about her, she and Crissy aren’t home by six. They’re always in early on Sundays.”
Fear prickles across my skin, lifting the hairs at the back of my neck. “What did the guy look like?”
Che lifts a hand to indicate a couple inches taller than his five foot eight. “About this tall. Big guy. Muscular. Dark red hair and hazel eyes.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…
I pull my cell from my coat pocket and tap Natalie’s name, but the call goes straight to voicemail. I leave her a brief message asking her to call me before shooting her a text—Are you okay? Che says you aren’t home yet. Get back to me. I’m worried. I think you might be in trouble—but no bubbles fill the screen in response.