Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“It’s her fault,” I explain, reaching up to stroke his tiny head. “Don’t worry, I punished her earlier.”
After flapping his wings several times, he settles and sets to pecking behind my ear like I suddenly got infested with fleas overnight without him there to look after me. Ash is standing in the kitchen, stirring something in a skillet. It smells surprisingly appealing, though it’s unusual looking.
“Sloppy joes,” she says. “I was craving them.”
My lip curls up when I notice the hamburger buns. Surely she doesn’t expect me to eat that slop on a bun. When she starts dishing up two plates, I realize that, yes, I’m going to have to put that redneck shit in my mouth. If it didn’t smell so damn good, I’d probably leave without another word, and take her bird with me as punishment.
“Beer is in the fridge.” She points toward it. “I picked up the kind you like.”
So domestic.
More so than she’s ever been at my place. For some reason, this bothers me. How is she more comfortable in the whore apartment than in one of the finest homes in the city? Shrimp doesn’t even have anywhere to fly. It’s basically a shithole and Ash is practically singing with cheer. I’ve spent the entire goddamn day immersed in stress while she’s been living her best life.
Shrimp decides I’m critter-free and flaps off toward his cage. I pull out a couple beers from the fridge and set them on the bar once I’ve popped the caps. I wonder how in the hell she managed to buy beer since she’s only eighteen, but I figured with the dress she had on earlier, she got whatever the fuck she wanted with just her pretty smile. Ash sets our food down before climbing onto a stool.
“Sit,” she says, hazel eyes searching mine. “Please.”
I bite back a sigh and drop down into the seat beside her. “This is positively the most disgusting-looking meal I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t be a diva, Win. Eat your supper like a good boy.”
Her bright smile is what wins me over enough to take a bite. Admittedly, it’s good. But I swear to fuck if I find it came from a can…
“Want to know the recipe?” she taunts, an evil smirk on her lips as though she can read my mind.
“No,” I growl. “You wanted to talk, so talk. I don’t have all night.”
Her playfulness melts away and she sips her beer, a pensive expression on her face. “How did it go today with your mother?”
Not what I expected to talk about. “As good as can be expected when you have to accept your mother’s help to make your sex scandal go away.”
“Does she hate me now?”
“She never liked you in the first place.”
She considers this for a moment. “Hmm.”
“You’re not allowed to do that. It’s my thing.”
“My thing now. I like watching that vein pulse in your forehead when I do it.”
I ignore her to polish off my sloppy hamburger bullshit. She watches my every move as I get up and make myself another helping, pretending not to see the Manwich can sitting on top of the trash can. When I sit back down, she angles her body toward me, abandoning her food to study me up close.
“Win, I said I was sorry.”
“Why? I’m not your boyfriend. What are you apologizing for?”
Anger flashes in her eyes. “I’m sorry for breaking what we had. But, damn, grow up and stop pouting.”
“Pouting.” I bark out a scornful laugh. “You’ve been scheming with a Morelli behind my back, Ash. It’s not pouting, it’s called being pissed off.”
“And hurt.” She bites down on her juicy bottom lip making me want to bite it too. “I hurt you.”
No.
Liar.
“Constantines don’t get hurt. We do the hurting.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“You believe in fairy tales, Cinderelliott, so your opinion is irrelevant.”
“I hurt you and I’m sorry for that. But I didn’t betray you. Yes, I kept things from you because Leo was terrifying and threatening me at every turn, but I didn’t sell you guys out.”
“I said I don’t care.”
“You do,” she argues. “You care about me and it makes you angry.”
“Are we done here?” I bark out. “I’m done discussing this. I don’t care. You’re my fucking employee. How many times do I have to say it?”
Her gaze hardens. “As many times as you need to in order to convince yourself. Meanwhile, I’m not buying the bullshit you’re selling.”
“I’m leaving.”
“And not get to pay me back?” She leans forward, toying with my tie. “That’s not your style. You’re Winston fucking Constantine. You always get what’s owed to you.”
“Hmm.”
“There’s my guy,” she murmurs, tugging on my tie to pull me closer.
“Not your guy.”
“Liar.”
Her lips brush against mine, soft and sweet. For a moment, I almost give in, kissing her pouty lips like I would have two days ago. In the last second, I bite her fat bottom lip. Her hazel eyes flare as she glowers at me.