Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“What, is that bad?”
“Oh…um, no… it’s fine.” It’s not, though. I hop out of bed and grab my robe. “I’ll…uh, be right back.” Opening the door, I hurry out of our room to the stairwell. Once inside, I take a deep breath and hit the call button. It rings and goes to voicemail, and his deep, enticing voice sends chills down my spine. I quickly hang up.
Think, Hazel. Think, think, think… What did he say? What did I say? I grab at my head, the memories not willing to resurface. Fuck! Why did I drink so much? Did he hear Evan in the background? Did I mention Evan? Fuck! I dial him back, and it goes straight to voicemail.
This time, when it beeps, I leave a message. “Hey, uh…it’s me. I…uh…I’m sorry about last night. I was a little drunk. I… Just call me back.”
I hang up but feel no relief. I tell myself it’s early in the day and that he’s probably busy with work. “I’ll just text him. Everyone has time to text.” I shoot off a message.
Me: I know you’re probably busy. But please call me back when you get a chance.
I add a bunch of heart emojis, then erase them, then add one back, then erase that. “Jesus, what am I doing? This isn’t high school.” I delete them all and press send. I stare at my phone as the message goes through. Three little dots pop up, and I hold my breath, waiting for his reply. The dots disappear. He read my message but didn’t reply.
My heart starts to patter against my chest. I don’t remember anything that happened, but I know I messed up. I panic and call him back, only to leave another voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me again. Listen, I’m sorry. I’m not sure what was said, but I swear, I didn’t do anything. I’m being good. Obeying your rules. Whatever those are. You can’t just tell me I belong to you and blow me off. I don’t even know what that means. Just call me.”
I hang up, feeling even worse. Maybe he’s in a meeting, and he can’t reply. I take a deep breath and walk back to my room. Thankfully, Violet isn’t there. I grab my shower stuff, hoping a hot shower will make me feel better. It doesn’t. When I check my phone, there’s still nothing.
Just when I thought he was going to accept me, I go and fuck it up. I could have acted like a complete fool.
With each second, minute, and hour that passes, I become more anxious. A storm of what-ifs brews inside my head, and it becomes too painful to weather.
I work out. I study. I clean our room twice over, and still, the silence is tearing at me. My mind keeps turning on me, the worst possible scenario floating in my head. Tears burn my eyes. “Shit. Don’t do this.” The sun starts to go down, and I realize I’ve spent the last hour pacing my room like a caged animal. When I can’t take the silent treatment any longer, I become desperate and call my dad.
“Hey, baby girl. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hi, Daddy. Nothing, just bored. Curious what you’re up to.” And possibly stalking your best friend.
“Nothing exciting. Gabe, a lady friend of his, and I are headed out to a late dinner. Probably catch a drink, then home. You?”
I don’t even hear his question. My ears are ringing. Lady friend. Lady friend. Lady friend. “Hazel, you still there?”
“Um, yeah. Enjoy your night. I gotta go.” I hang up and squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the tears. That bastard is playing around with me while he’s out getting his rocks off. He doesn’t even care about me or my feelings. I truly am just a toy to him. “Bastard!” I slam my fists on my desk.
I know I’m not thinking clearly. Impulse takes the wheel and tells my logic to shut the hell up. Before I truly realize what I’m doing, I leave a note for Violet. I tell her that I’m sleeping at another dorm, and I’m on the highway headed home. The drive is a blur until finally I’m pulling up to the private club and spot his car outside. Without thinking, I storm in, coming face to face with the same woman from before.
“Excuse me, miss, you can’t—”
“I’m here to see Gabriel Walker.”
I attempt to walk past her, but just like before, she grabs my bicep, halting me. “And if he was expecting you, he would have notified me. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Shoving her arm off me, I debate tackling her. Or screaming bloody murder until I get his attention, wherever he might be. Before I do either, the gentleman from the first night approaches us.