Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
I wish I could tell you more, but it would mean breaking a promise.
Mom made you promise not to talk about what happened?
Yeah.
It’s times like these I wish I had a dog—an excuse to leave my apartment and walk for hours and hours. I could do that anyway, but I always feel restless, like I should be running, writing, working, or doing something more productive.
Then I guess we can go back to the silent treatment…
I grit my teeth, walk through my apartment, ending up in the living room, but I don’t sit. Instead, I stand behind the couch, gripping it with one hand as I hold the phone just as tightly in the other.
I don’t want to give you the silent treatment, I reply, knowing I have to be careful. I thought texting so much could become awkward, considering your mom doesn’t want me in her life at all.
But I’m not my mom. I’m capable of deciding who I want to speak with, Jax.
So, it’s Jax now, is it?
Is that a problem?
No, my friends call me Jax.
And that’s what we are, yeah? Friends?
My fingers twitch, trying to send a message without my permission, as if my instincts are rising and attempting to take control. If I were telling the truth, I’d explain that friends aren’t even close to what she is to me. She’s the woman who convinced me soulmates exist.
Sure, unless you’re pissed at me for the silent treatment.
Maybe you could find a way to make it up to me, she replies.
I finally sit forcefully rather than turn and dart for the door, kick it open in my savage determination, charge down to my car, and race through the city. There are lots of ways I could make it up to her. I could turn her curvy body around, driving my hard manhood against her full ass cheeks so she can feel how badly I want her. Then I’d slide my hand down over her full breasts, down her pants, stroke her pussy, slowly at first, then quicker and firmer with more heat when I feel her shimmering against me, her moans getting more urgent.
My shaft is solid. My balls are so damn full.
Send me more of your chapters, I reply. I still want to read them all.
I was going to yesterday, but I didn’t want to bother you.
I wonder if she wants me, too. Of course, I’ve had countless chances with women over the years, but that doesn’t mean I’m familiar with the ins and outs of dating. Not that this is dating, but I’m not skilled at reading the signals. She could be simply talking, not experiencing even a bit of this fire.
It’s not a problem. I want to read them.
Just don’t be too harsh, okay?
Harsh? I write dumb action thrillers, remember?
I never said your books were dumb, she texts. They’re amazingly well-plotted. Your writing isn’t all artsy, but it gets the job done. You’re a master of pace. There’s a reason your books are so popular.
I smirk again, or maybe it’s more of a smile. I’ve never been much of an outright smiler. People have called me grim and morose since I was a kid, and I’ve always assumed it was my personality. I’ve always believed this is who I’m supposed to be. Any humor, love, or warm feelings belonged to my characters, not to me, and even then, only in quick Hollywood-style snippets between the action.
You’re going to give me an ego, Zoey, I reply.
Give you one? How do you not have one already? If I were you, my head wouldn’t fit through the door.
You’ll be able to find out for yourself one day. When you’re a bestselling writer, we can test your ego. We’ll see if you become an instant diva.
It feels good to banter and not take things too seriously. I wait for her response with my lips turned upward, my thoughts dancing away to the times in the future when we can banter in real life. Without shame. Without doubt. Without lies. Is it fair to resent Mallory for making me lie to her daughter?
Are you okay? I text after about five minutes.
It’s ridiculous for me to panic after five minutes, but Peter still hasn’t given me concrete info about Mallory’s ex, Axel. I’ve wondered if that situation was a blip, and now he’s gone, and nothing is drawing me to see my woman physically. During the three days that Zoey and I didn’t speak, I assumed she’d call me again if there were a problem.
I think so, she replies.
My body gets icy, veins surging cold. It’s the sensation I felt when all that mattered were my brothers and the mission—the gun in my hand and the plan in my head, nothing else.
What is it?
It’s probably nothing.
I don’t like the look of that “probably.”