Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I clench my fists at his words, but I agree, because deep down, I know he’s right. I don’t know everything about Scarlett, and I don’t know if she told me the whole truth, or if her involvement did indeed go deeper. Until I do know the story, I’ll be careful. But I won’t let her get hurt. That much I am sure about.
“Got it,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
“I’ll keep in touch.”
He hangs up and I exhale, shoving my phone into my pocket and reaching up, rubbing my temples. I need a fucking drink.
And then I’m going to fucking pray that the one girl that has come along since ... since ... her, isn’t going to let me down.
Let her be as pure as she looks.
Fucking please.
~*~*~*~
SCARLETT
I don’t sleep well.
That’s for certain.
When I wake in the morning, my whole body hurts, everything inside me aches and there is that deep fear that I had finally started living without. What the hell is Trey doing coming back into my life? I know, because my instinct screams at me, that I’m in danger. That feeling, it’s an empty bottomless pit. A feeling that’s all-consuming, that captures your every move. It brings on panic, and fear, and the inability to function.
I’ve been there.
I don’t want to be there again.
I think about Maverick and how utterly incredible he was last night. He was there for me, he listened, he didn’t argue or talk over me. He just sat back, those intense green eyes holding mine, those big arms crossed over his chest, and he listened. When he’d put his hands on me because I was freaking out, he would bring a calm over my body that made me feel safe, safer than I’ve ever felt. And when he hugged me last night, when he put his arms around me and let me cry into him ...
Something changed inside me.
I felt something shift. Something begin to grow. And now I’m afraid. I’m afraid because I can’t allow anything to grow. I’m a singer, a famous one at that, and he’s a biker. Our worlds simply could never mix. He has a home, and a family, and a club. I have the road, and music, and ... me. That thought brings pain to my heart, a pain that lodges deep and has my shoulders slumping.
How can I spend time with Maverick and not allow these feelings to grow? I’m not stupid, I’m not a naïve girl that thinks I can just ignore the feelings and keep him at arm’s length. I know I can’t do that. I know the depth of how I feel. I’m the kind of girl that falls in love with a smile or the simple sound of laughter. I have a free heart, and I have a soft heart. It opens easily, and it loves fondly.
I already know if I spend time with Maverick my heart is going to latch on with both hands and curl around him, not letting go.
And I also know that won’t end well. In fact, it’ll end in tears. For me. Not for him. He’s the kind of man that can have anyone he wants. I know this.
Which means I have to limit the amount of alone time I spend with him. I won’t be impolite, I want his security and I want his friendship. But I can’t allow those fingers to curl around my jaw, for those rugged lips to graze my forehead, for those big arms to wrap around me and hold me tight. I can’t have that. Because I will never let him go.
No alone time. I can do that.
I have his phone number now, that’ll make things a whole lot easier.
Remembering I have his phone number, I throw myself out of bed and rush over, picking up my phone and then stopping myself. This isn’t holding myself back. I’m like a teenager getting a text from her crush. I close my eyes, gather myself, and then glance down at the screen. Disappointment floods my chest when I see no message. What did I expect anyway? That he’d message? Of course not. He’s probably asleep. He was up late too.
Still, I can’t stop that nagging sinking feeling in my chest.
I definitely need to avoid alone time.
A knock sounds at my door and I walk over, opening it to see Susan standing outside, a cup of tea in her hands, giving me that look that I used to hate so damned much. It’s a look of pity. Like she feels sorry for me. Like she thinks I’m going to lose it at any moment and get put in a padded cell. I hate that she still doesn’t fully believe in me, and it makes me wonder why. Does Susan have a reason for being so ... uptight and withdrawn? So unsure if a person is ever telling her the truth?