Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
With that, she hopped down and walked away.
She didn’t look back.
Alex was tidying up.
Everyone was gone.
“Babe,” he called from where he was standing halfway to the door.
Alex looked up at him.
She was tweaked.
He wasn’t surprised.
But seeing that, that wound opened more, too far, and he nearly flinched at the pain.
He tossed the box to her, sending it sailing across the divide between them.
Her hands came up quickly, and she caught it.
Then she stared at it.
“The ring,” he explained.
Her eyes darted to him. “Peri’s ring?”
He shook his head. “Traded it for another one. I got thirty days to return it. All good.”
“Rix—”
“I gotta get going.”
Her shoulders shot forward and back, like she’d suddenly been shoved.
And that wound tore open even more.
“Wh-what?”
He was moving to the door. “Dinner. Tomorrow. My place.”
“It’s your birthday. I haven’t given you your present.”
He stopped at the door. “Dinner. Tomorrow. Six. My place.”
And with Alex standing across the room in her kitchen, staring at him, those fucking gorgeous eyes of hers haunted, he walked out.
Do it fast. But do it right.
It might not be fast.
But he hoped like fuck, when it happened tomorrow night, he did it right.
It was a weak move, working from home.
But he needed that time to pull himself together.
She came in the side door at six-oh-seven, and he was not together.
When he saw her, his eyes immediately fell to her hand.
She wasn’t wearing the ring.
All day, he wondered if she opened the box.
Looked at it.
Liked it.
Tried it on.
But of course she wasn’t wearing it.
Because it was very real.
And totally fake.
“Hey,” he greeted.
She walked to the end of the bar and stopped.
“Hey,” she said softly, putting her hand on the bar.
He’d prepared.
It was sitting there.
She didn’t notice it, but her hand was resting right by it.
Her hand that close, the rip sliced up his throat, filling it with the putrid bile that lived in him.
It tasted like shit.
“Before…” His jaw jerked to the side.
When it did, her frame locked.
He pulled it together.
“Before we talk, that bottle. It’s for your dad.”
Like she was in a dream state, or a nightmare, her gaze floated down at the bottle of scotch on the counter.
The five-hundred-dollar one he’d dug through his cupboards to find.
“For putting us up. A host’s gift,” he explained.
Even more slowly, her eyes came back to him. “That’s a very nice gift, Rix.”
Of course she knew how expensive that bottle was.
She was royal.
And he wasn’t thinking bloodlines.
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“It’s unnecessary.”
“You need to pack it, I might forget.”
She lifted a hand, wrapped her fingers around the neck of the bottle.
He watched, watched her touch it, and pus seethed from his wound.
He had to ask.
So goddamned weak.
“Did you try the ring on?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I don’t know if they can size it before we leave.”
“It fits.”
It fits.
Do it fast. But do it right.
“It’s important I don’t lose you,” he said gently.
She said nothing.
“We need to shift, baby,” he told her.
She stared at him with those two-toned eyes.
Those amber tipped lashes.
Breathing softly from her mouth, pretty pink lips parted.
“We’ll have dinner tonight, me and you. And I’ll meet you at the airstrip on Tuesday. But between now and then, to get our shit together, move into our new space before we have to pretend, I think we need some time apart.”
Alex remained silent.
“You’re one of my best friends, baby, and—”
“Don’t call me that,” she said quietly.
“Al—”
“I’m not that,” she said.
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Not even in New York. When we’re pretending. Don’t do that.”
“Okay,” he repeated.
“Okay,” she whispered.
They stared at each other.
Then it was Rix whispering.
“I can’t lose you.”
She nodded, fast.
They were coming.
He could see them.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Shit.
She lifted her chin to hold the tears at bay, and her husky voice was ragged when she said, “I’m sorry, Rix. We-we’ll have dinner some other time. Wh-when we get back. Right now, I’m not hungry.”
And, her fingers around the neck of that fucking bottle of scotch, she took it with her when she raced away.
She was in before him at the office the next day.
He looked right to her the minute he could.
She was closed tight.
First time ever, even before they became them, she was closed so tightly away from him, he couldn’t get even an infinitesimal bead on where she was at.
That meant he knew where she was at.
That tear inside became a slash.
He jerked up his chin at her.
No awkward wave.
No fluttering dimple.
She tipped her chin back and looked again to her laptop.
Rix hit his office, unsure how he made it there without a trail of slime following him.
He was wide open.
Gaping.
Leaking.
He’d barely sat when she was in his office.
“I won’t take long,” she said, coming right to his desk.
The folding chair was still there.
But his desk was new.
Real wood.
Big.
Important.
He’d wanted to fuck her on it.
He still wanted to fuck her on it.
He didn’t know how he kept his seat without rushing her, herding her into his truck, taking her somewhere he’d never let her leave.