Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” I set my glass down and release a breath. A heaviness settles on my chest at the reminder. I need a distraction. “Tell me about your family. I’ve gathered the basics over the years, but you never really say anything about them. Just superficial, searchable stuff.”
“Do you ever look them up?”
I half laugh, half snort. “Um, no. Not taking anything away from you all, but it’s never occurred to me to look them up. Should I? I mean, besides Tate, of course.”
He lifts a brow. “I’m not talking about Tate again.”
“I checked out his Social,” I say in a sing-song voice. “He’s very … shirtless.”
Renn crosses his arms over his chest. “But you don’t follow him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I checked.”
What? I laugh, not sure whether to believe him or not. “No, you did not.”
“Yes, I did. And you know what else?”
I hum, enjoying the playful look on his face.
“You follow me,” he says, almost beaming.
I try to hide my amusement by taking another drink, but the bottom of the glass appears. Damn, this stuff goes down too easily.
Gerald returns and hands Renn a bill. He scribbles something on the paper and thanks Gerald for his help. I don’t know what Renn wrote, but Gerald’s eyes widen.
“Thank you, Mr. Brewer,” Gerald says. “I … I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Thank you for taking care of us this evening.”
“Of course, sir. It was my pleasure.”
Renn smiles as Gerald walks away with a pep in his step. Once he’s out of earshot, Renn holds out a hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says.
I lay my palm in his. The warmth of his hand and the roughness of his scars from rugby send a myriad of sensations through me.
My legs are a little wobbly as we make our way to the exit. He never lets go of my hand, never eases his grip. And I like it way more than I should. I expect him to release me once we’re out of the restaurant, but he doesn’t.
We wander down the long corridors of shops inside the hotel. Name brands I recognize but have never owned hang with authority over large, intricate doors. Storefronts highlight shoes, jewelry, and handbags—anything you want or need can be obtained without leaving the hotel.
“I wouldn’t really want to live here,” I say, relishing how my body and mind are calm. At the same time. “But you could. And think about this—if you used the walkways over the streets and were really careful, you could manage to live without ever stepping foot on the actual Earth again. Ever. Isn’t that nuts?”
Renn chuckles. “I’ve never thought about that.”
“It’s the beauty of tequila. It opens your mind.”
“That’s not all it opens, from what I hear.”
I laugh, resting my head against his arm. “I’ve heard that too, so I don’t drink it too often. I’m usually a vodka girl.”
“Why tequila tonight, then?”
“Because I’m letting loose. One last hurrah before I buckle down and focus on my life.”
“What do you mean?”
He looks down at me, curious.
I shouldn’t answer him—I should transition the conversation to something else. Something lighter. Something less personal. But maybe it’s the tequila talking or the tender curiosity in his big brown eyes, but instead of twisting our discussion elsewhere, I continue.
“I have a great life—don’t get me wrong,” I say as we stroll through the mostly empty corridors. “I have a great brother, an amazing best friend, and I just got a fancy new job promotion that I’m excited about. But I want … more for myself, Renn. I know that sounds really unappreciative—”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re allowed to want and go after whatever your heart desires. You should do that.” He pauses. “People get stuck in the everyday shit and forget they have choices. That or they think they don’t deserve more than they already have.”
My head rests against his arm again. “I’m not sure it’s either of those things for me.”
“Then what is it?”
We walk in silence for a while. Renn doesn’t pressure me to talk or dismiss the conversation by bringing up something else. He just holds my hand, softly stroking the back with his thumb.
My body buzzes, basking in the effects of the drinks—and of Renn’s sweet touch. I think I’m making more out of it than I should, and he’s holding on to me so I don’t fall. I should pull away from him. But I don’t want to.
“I’m kind of afraid, Renn.”
He flinches, squeezing my hand. “Of what?”
“Of so many things.” Of so many things I haven’t told anyone. They’re the sort of admissions—confessions—you tell your mom. God, I miss her.
We round a corner toward a large fountain. I consider leaving our conversation there, hanging in ambiguity. But it’s so nice getting this off my chest, and with Renn at my side …