Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“That should be a red flag for you.”
“I have gift receipts,” Graham says almost smugly. I burst into laughter.
“That’s not funny,” I say, continuing to laugh.
“I can have them emailed to you, but there are also copies in the boxes.” I can’t help but find this endearing, and can’t bring myself to be upset with him for ordering me all of these things. Once again, he’s going out of his way to try to make me happy.
“Graham.” I shake my head, still laughing, as the front door opens to reveal both Dylan and Nat.
“Well, I guess she’s alive.” Nat glares at me with her hands on her hips.
“What?” I stand up straighter. Nat could be the mother hen of our group. Frankie is more likely to punch someone in the face to come to your defense, but you can talk her into some shenanigans.
“We couldn’t get a hold of you.” She comes over and wraps me up in a hug. Crap, I forgot about my phone. Who forgets about their phone? I gave it to Graham days ago.
“Sorry.”
“With how hard you’re laughing, don't be. I thought I was going to find you upset.” She steps back. “I don’t know, actually. You never loved that Michael dipshit, but everything around that relationship with you was weird.”
“I know.”
She’s not wrong. I’d made being engaged my whole personality. I finally fit. I wasn’t going to be the poor girl anymore that no one wanted. I should have known it was all wrong when it didn't bother me when Michael never pushed for more beyond a few chaste kisses. I pretended in my head it was because I was doing this all the proper way and waiting for marriage.
Bunch of bullshit, which is clear after one kiss with Graham and how it melted all my insides. Then the way he kissed me like he couldn't wait anymore either. That was the first real rush of feeling wanted I’ve ever felt. I just never really experienced it, so I hadn’t realized.
“Now tell me everything.” Nat’s eyes bounce between Graham and me. “How did you lovebirds connect?”
My stomach drops as I glance at Graham, wondering what he might say. I didn’t think Nat would put together that Graham and I had done anything. We only kissed two seconds ago. Will he correct her and say we’re only friends?
Do I want him to?
Chapter Eleven
GRAHAM
“Luna saved me,” I explain as I lead everyone to the great room overlooking the Olympic-sized pool. As I look over my shoulder, I meet the narrowed-eyed gaze of Dylan’s bride, Nat, who has never looked more lawyerly. Dylan has really met his match with her. “I was escaping the guard dogs that my board sicced on me. You may have seen some of them loitering outside.”
”The men in the black suits.” Dylan nods. “Grim. How long do you have to have watch dogs?”
”Until the internet decides that I shouldn’t be murdered anymore.”
“That might be never,” Nat jokes, although the wary expression on her face hasn’t let up. She’s worried that Luna has fled from one rich asshole into the arms of another. I’m rich and an asshole, so it might take some effort to convince the woman that my intentions toward Luna are pure. Or rather, honest. Nothing I intend to do with Luna could be termed pure. All my thoughts are decidedly wicked and carnal, very much the opposite of pure.
“I hope it’s soon,” counters Dylan. “I can’t be driving all the way out here to play poker. You’ll have to come back to the city.”
“When Luna feels comfortable. Right now we’re plotting Michael’s demise. Did you bring any food with you?“
“Do I look like Brooks? It’s the off-season, why not go over to Kaden’s?” Dylan jerks a thumb to the west as he plops onto the sofa and starts taking out his needles and yarn. “He’s got a personal chef.”
I shudder. Kaden’s place is next door, but with about five acres between us, it’s a fifteen-minute golf cart ride. “His personal chef only knows how to cook kale, homemade granola, and chicken breasts.“
“That’s depressing.”
“What are you making?” Luna settles next to Dylan, her eyes full of curiosity.
“Hot pants for my love.” He jerks his shoulder in Nat’s direction.
“There’s actually this thing called a sweater curse,” Nat says, coming to sit on the other side of Dylan. “If you knit a sweater for someone you love, by the end of it, they leave you, so Dylan won’t make me a sweater, but I saw someone knit up some cute shorts, and he said that wouldn’t invoke the curse. Here, let me show you.” Nat brings out her phone and after a few swipes finds the photo she was looking for and holds the screen up for Luna’s inspection.
She takes the phone and coos. “Oh my gosh, these are adorable. I need a set. Look, it has a matching top. You can make this?” The last part is directed toward Dylan, who is wearing a shit-eating grin.