Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Really, the only reason I suggested it that night was that I was sick of Velle looking at me sideways, likely drawing all sorts of conclusions in that head of his.
I was regretting ever telling them about the little rescue mission. Even if I did leave out a lot of the details about it.
Because they’d been attaching my mood to the incident ever since.
And I hated how correct they were.
I mean, for fuck’s sake, I hadn’t done more than play pool games and do shots with a woman since that night. Even that, my heart wasn’t in. Let alone any other part of my anatomy.
I’m not saying I’d never had a dry spell in my life. But I’d never not reached for a woman when they were right there for the taking.
“Why’s there no food?” Kylo asked, his hand on his stomach as he looked in the near-empty fridge.
“Eddie is sick,” York told him. “Sent a text this morning saying he had a stomach bug and that we’re on our own. Then reminded me where the take-away menus are since he knows none of us know how to cook.”
“I mean, we could feed ourselves,” Kylo objected.
“And Caymen can cook. Well, grill anyway,” Dixon supplied.
I wasn’t about to pipe in and say I could cook as well. Unlike Eddie, while I could do it, I didn’t enjoy it. So I wasn’t committing myself to being Eddie’s fill-in when he was sick or busy.
“Take-out it is,” I agreed, spreading the menus out.
Being a spoiled bunch, though we couldn’t decide on just one place. So I added an obscene tip to get someone to pick it up for us, then started making something fruity for the club girls and their friends to drink when they showed up.
From there, it was all the usual shit.
Dixon cleaned the pool. Caymen set up the giant inflatable TV. Velle queued up the playlist. Kylo and York blew up the battle Q-tips and the beer pong table.
And I… didn’t do jack shit.
Just waited around for the food to arrive as the party started to rage out back.
“Fuck Benny,” Mackie grumbled when he tried to make a grab for a chip on the table but couldn’t quite reach it.
“Sorry, man. Kylo is the sucker. I don’t wanna be on that psycho Remy’s bad side. So… here’s an almond instead,” I told him, dropping one into his bowl.
My phone buzzed as the macaw climbed his giant body back into his cage to eat the nut.
Food arrived, it seemed.
Happy for something to do, I swung open the door.
And, somehow, there she was.
Standing several feet back from the door, tucking her phone into her pocket.
She looked almost the same as the night on the street: white tee, jean shorts, and flip-flops, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
If possible, she looked even more exhausted—and thinner—than a week before.
“Zoe?”
Her name was out of me before I even realized I was about to say it.
“Coast,” she said, swallowing hard. “I… hey. I, um, delivered the food.”
“Right. Yeah. You do that.”
It sounded like I forgot that fact. But I’d honestly been thinking about ordering a bunch of food just to see if she might show up since she’d dropped me off at the convenience store.
The fact that she was probably one of dozens of delivery drivers and the low chance of her being the one at the door was what held me back.
What a fucking twist of fate to have that proven wrong.
“I, yeah. So, this is your party.”
“It’s the club’s party,” I clarified.
“Club,” she repeated, brows pinching.
It was right then that Dixon came out the front door, loudly declaring that the food had arrived.
“This is one of those body shots and titty parties,” Zoe said after Dixon took the bags inside.
“Seems like it might—” I broke off as Lainey let out a loud, angry cry from the backseat of the car.
“Sorry. One second,” she said, rushing to the car and checking on the baby.
But Lainey wouldn’t be soothed.
Zoe pulled her out of the car seat, putting her to her shoulder and rocking.
“Come on, baby. It’s okay. I promise I can get you a bottle when we get back home.”
“Fuck that. We got water,” I said, waving at the house. “Get the baby some food.”
Zoe glanced at the house, then back at her wailing infant.
“Zo, come on. Get her a bottle,” I said, going around to the driver’s side to pull the key out of the ignition and grab the diaper bag off the floor well of the passenger seat. “Come on. Just keep her away from the bird when we walk through the kitchen,” I warned.
“Bird?” she asked, but saw soon enough who I was talking about as Mackie froze while climbing halfway down his cage. No doubt trying to make his way toward some sort of food. Caught, he climbed back up, looking real pissed about it too.