Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Then, I’m whimpering when he stops. Covers my hand. Backs away.
“I should go. You need to see your brother,” he says, and his pupils are dilated, his lips are bruised and his clothes are a wrinkled mess.
I can’t stop looking at him. He’s in my home. And it better not be the last time.
On his way out, he tosses a glance at the Zara Clementine above my couch. “It’s perfect.”
My heart thunders as I say, “I love it.”
Then he goes.
31
ANYONE IN PARTICULAR?
Harlow
It’s a perfect summer morning, Central Park whooshing by as I go on a bike ride with my brother.
Hunter rounds the sparkling lake ahead of me, the boathouse off in the distance presiding over the water. I’m a few paces behind him, but I’ll catch up.
It’s energizing to bike with him like we did when we were younger, chasing each other around our favorite place in the city—here.
I never beat him then. But I’m tougher and battle-scarred—literally—now.
Determined too.
I picture my ankle. The scar on it.
I pump the pedals harder and faster, and soon I’m passing Hunter, shooting him my most devilish little sister grin.
“Race you to Bethesda Terrace,” I shout.
“You’re on.”
Then, I bend low, tucked over the bike. He’s a racer, and he loves his adventure bike rides, but I’m fueled by the adrenaline of my wild life. By getting away with moments like I did last night with Bridger, from the gallery to the garden to my apartment. No idea when I’ll see him again. No clue either when I’ll hear from him again.
The uncertainty makes me push a little harder, working my muscles. Like if I ride harder, I’ll see him again sooner.
With that goal fueling me, I roar down the bike path, but when we’re fifty feet away from our destination, Hunter pulls ahead, badass that he is.
He finishes before me, panting hard, but victorious.
When I stop a second later, I faux grumble at him. “I know you had your bike turbo-charged last night,” I tease, like I did when we were kids.
“Yes, that’s it exactly, Lo. I juiced my rental bike late last night when you were sleeping,” he says drily.
“Knew it,” I say, then we lock up our bikes on a rack, and helmets in hand, we walk toward Bethesda Terrace, home of some of our most mischievous excursions years ago when Hunter spent his summers here.
We stop at the terrace overlooking a fountain made famous in movies, and I point to some trees beyond. “Remember when we tried to build a tree fort there? We bought wood at a hardware shop, tools and everything,” I say, picturing that adventurous day when we’d thought we were both explorers and builders.
He laughs. “Wherever did we come up with that mad idea?”
“In a book, I’m sure,” I say.
“And then the police came by and were basically like well, kids, you can’t very well build a tree house in Central Park,” he says.
“But it seemed like such a good idea at the time,” I say.
“The best idea.”
I laugh at the lovely memory, then rest my elbows on the terrace, soaking in the sun. I’ll be meeting Amelie a little later, but for now, I’m gobbling up my morning with my brother, especially since he was too exhausted to hang out when he arrived last night. We both crashed hard. Maybe that was for the best, given what I’d been doing moments before he arrived.
Bridger texted me from his car last night, saying, Hunter just walked in.
I didn’t bother to say close call. We both knew it was.
I focus on my guest now. “So, tell me more about the trip to California.” He’d traveled to San Francisco for work. “How’s everything going with Webflix?”
His cheeks pinken, his dimple appearing in full force. Ohhhh. That’s quite a tell. “I guess something more interesting than work happened?” I stare at him purposefully. What are you hiding from me?
“Why would you think something happened?” he asks ever so innocently.
“Hunter! Who did you meet in California?” I stomp a foot, exaggerating indignation.
“Nobody.” But he can’t keep the smile off his face, and he rolls his eyes. “Ah, fuck it. Somebody. Somebody totally fantastic.” He drags both hands through his thick hair. “Lo, this guy. Holy fuck. He was just…” He can barely speak, he’s so…infatuated.
I can barely do anything but shriek because I’m already infatuated with his story. “Details,” I demand.
“We went to his place, and it was amazing.”
“Did you…?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Not yet. I mean, I’ve only ever kissed a man before, but we did a little more than kissing, this guy and me.”
Or maybe a lot, I wonder, reading his expression. But he’ll share when he’s ready.
He drops his voice even lower. “He’s a football player in San Francisco. And just wow. The whole thing was just…wow.”
“That’s great,” I say, giddy for my brother. He sounds all caught up in his crush. “So will you see him again?” Once I ask, I realize it’s unlikely. This guy lives in San Francisco. My brother lives in London.