Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I’m laughing, though.
He doesn’t seem to mind, either, rubbing behind her ears and stroking her sides as she leans against him.
I stare at him, wishing I could run from another happy moment and everything I’m afraid it could mean.
Call me a coward.
Right now, everything feels too raw. Every emotion hits too close to home, and after the exhausting day we’ve had, I just don’t want to deal with it.
Not now.
But I can’t afford not to. I never learned to be that socially graceful.
“You’ve been quiet since we left,” Brady says like the mind reader he is.
I shrug, feeling silk sliding over my body like a kiss.
At least we both look incredible while we’re saddled with emotions harder to decipher than ancient hieroglyphics. I know something’s eating at him, too, and it’s not just his usual bottomless appetite for me.
Brady hasn’t taken his eyes off me all evening.
I’m petty enough to feel proud of that, even though Nancy kept preening and seething over him from across the room. He barely looked at her.
But it can’t overshadow the way he hid his phone, and I don’t know why, but it can’t be anything good.
I almost want to curse myself for noticing how he flipped the screen away with guilt swarming his eyes.
Almost.
But if he’s sexting other women or setting up his next fling, I’d rather know now.
I’d rather stop putting him on a thirty-foot pedestal and wipe the glitter from my eyes so I can see what he is.
Just another rich dude with the world at his feet.
A dude who treats me like gold to my face when I’m actually just another piece of bronze in his machinery.
I take a deep breath. “How did it really go, you think? Did you have any fun?”
“Dad liked you. Not exactly for human reasons, but it’s enough.” He nods slowly, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the sofa while Queenie settles on the floor. “We did good. Tiring but worthwhile.”
“I’m glad.” I eye him carefully, trying to read his mood.
He’s relieved, I think, but also bothered. Unsettled. Restless.
I can’t tell if he’s feeding off my energy, or if I’m bathing in his. Or even if our minds are close to the same wavelength.
I bend down to unfasten my heels and kick them aside.
Then, with a burst of self-consciousness, I set them upright again. The shoes were almost five hundred dollars.
Better to keep them in good condition. He might be able to return them if they’re lightly used, or at least send them to a woman who knows how to wear these things without risking broken bones with every step.
Brady watches me from near the fridge as he refills his water bottle, his tie loosened and a whisper of a smirk on his face.
“You don’t have to worry about damaging them, Sass. They’re yours, even if you never need them again. And if something happens, we’ll just get you another pair.”
“Hey, just because you can doesn’t mean I should be careless. I didn’t want Queenie to think they’re chew toys.”
“Don’t be paranoid,” he says as the Lab looks up, wagging her tail. “She’s a good girl, and even if she’s not, shoes come and go.”
Oh, okay. What about people?
Hell yes, I’m paranoid.
And I know it’s my issues, my scars I’ve carried over from past relationships where nothing was ever what it seemed.
But he hid his phone. He lied to my face.
That’s not the kind of thing I can just shrug off and pretend we’re back to laughter and spine-shifting sex. But what if it was a fan messaging him and I’m being ridiculous?
A fan, my ass.
I know Brady well enough by now. He doesn’t strike up long conversations with randos from his channels.
I’ve seen the women who come piling into his DMs. They must have their notifications cranked up every time he posts so they can race to comment first and get his attention.
They’re obsessed, ready to hook up faster than a right swipe on any app.
Or maybe I’m just so into him I really am bursting out of my cocoon, emerging as a paranoid bitch.
He sips his water as Queenie trots over for a head scratch, his eyes never leaving me. “Lena, let’s hear it. You might as well tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I bite off.
“What crawled up your ass and died. If you don’t talk, we can’t do anything about it.”
We.
That one little word darts past my defenses and shreds my heart.
My face heats.
“It’s just—well, who were you texting?” I demand. “And don’t lie to me, Brady.”
His face is a mask, impassive, telling me too much without uttering a word.
With a huff, I throw up my arms, shaking my head as I pace to the other side of the island in his kitchen.
“Look, if there’s another woman—a sidepiece or whatever—I get it.” I also hate it.