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)
“I’ve spent the past thirteen years surviving,” I say. “I survived Mom’s cancer, then I made it through having Brock as my guardian for a year and a half. I got through college somehow. I barely left Edward unscathed.”
Renn glances at me across his shoulder.
“You know, I look back on that now and can’t believe that didn’t ruin me,” I say. “I was so emotionally vulnerable when we got together. I didn’t recognize myself in that relationship. I was stuck and shamed, and … my existence served to support him and his dreams. And then the breakup that was supposed to make things better. But then it was the accusations, the headlines—the paparazzi used to camp outside my work. I kept waiting for Mason Music to fire me.” My heart sinks. “That was really, really hard. No one should have to go through that.”
He squeezes my hand again. “No, they shouldn’t. And he should never have put you in that position.”
“Well, considering he did it on purpose …” I shake my head. “It’s left me with wounds that haven’t healed.”
“Like what?”
“Like being made a joke of in public. Like having a fear that when I love someone, they’ll leave.” I pause, gathering my courage to say this aloud. “I think the biggest one, though, is that I’ll wind up alone. That no matter what I do, everyone will move on with their lives, as they do, and I’ll be left in the dust.”
“That won’t happen, Blakely.”
I smile sadly. “I know—or, I hope so, anyway. But, at this point, I’m fairly certain I sabotage myself out of a fear that it won’t work out anyway.” I look up at him and laugh softly. “I mean, have you seen the guys I’ve dated? It would be bad even if you left out Edward and just looked at the ones that followed.”
He chuckles. “You do pick winners.”
“That I do.” I swing our hands between us. “I have to stop doing that. I have to do better for myself. No more dating men who take me for granted. No more one-sided relationships. No more picking out guys who have the potential to ruin me—emotionally or publicly.”
“Sounds like a great plan to me.”
“Me too.” I breathe, feeling lighter than I have in a long time.
A weight has lifted from my shoulders. I’m immediately freer from my admission—one I didn’t realize just how badly I needed to make until now. One I never thought I’d make to Renn, of all people.
“And that, Mr. Brewer, is why tonight was a tequila night. It’s a proper goodbye to my twenties.”
Renn looks at me and smirks. “And that was being accomplished with tequila and a male strip show?”
“Yup. Ella said it would get my juices flowing.” I cringe, giggling. “That sounds just as bad now as it did when she said it.”
He laughs.
“I just wanted a good, fun memory so when I look back on this decade, I don’t automatically go to the other stuff, you know? Instead of camping in my house for a week to avoid having my photo taken, I could remember tonight.”
“Makes sense.” He comes to a stop and drops my hand. His brows pinch together. “Can you give me a few minutes? I need to take care of something.”
“Sure.”
I watch him remove his phone from his pocket. His thumbs fly over the keys.
Renn bites his lip while he takes care of whatever is happening on the other end of the line. I just stand and stare. He’s so stupidly handsome. His forearms flex as he types, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. A grin slides across his lips.
It sends a shiver down my spine.
He looks up with a glimmer in his eye. “Ready?”
“For what?”
“I have a little surprise for the birthday girl.”
His lopsided smile makes me grin.
“What kind of a surprise?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
He takes my hand again and leads me outside.
CHAPTER 8
Renn
What the fuck am I doing here?
A bolt of lightning flashes over the stage. Screams fill the venue moments before loud, pulsing music replaces them. The auditorium goes dark and every person in attendance loses their mind … except me.
Blakely leans against the balcony rail with her back to the five men marching across the stage in trench coats and snaps a selfie.
“You look like you could use a drink,” a muscled, shiny man says from behind me. “What can I get you? It’s on the house.”
I pull the only hat we could find—the one that says Soduku Champ on it—as low as I can. “I’ll have the biggest, strongest drink you can give me.”
“One for me too.” Blakely sits beside me, the strobing lights making her dress sparkle. Amusement fills her eyes.
I take a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and hand it to my slick savior. “And please—hurry.”
He laughs and disappears. I hope that wasn’t a scam.