Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
I was sure I was having some kind of stroke.
“Can you watch movies and eat brownies with us?” Clara asked, happily oblivious.
When Beau’s eyes darted to me, I felt as if I’d been shocked by the force of his gaze. On the surface, he was as he always was. But his eyes were shadowed with desire that I definitely wasn’t imagining. “I have to get some work done, but I’ll definitely have a brownie and catch as much of the movie as I can.”
Robotically, I poured the brownie mix into the pan, unable to fathom anything that just happened. The rapid change in our uncomfortable, insufferable yet predictable dynamic.
Though had it really been that rapid? Over the course of the past few weeks, there had been small changes in Beau’s actions toward me. Less outright hostility. More lingering looks that made me need to rub my thighs together.
But it wasn’t just the looks. It was him getting angry over a rideshare, him asking me if I had fun when I went out, him giving me water, pills, and making me breakfast. Maybe if I calculated all those small moments, it could add to a halfway decent person.
Maybe I needed to stop analyzing things so intensely.
“Banana?”
I peered up.
Both Beau and Clara were looking at me. I’d lapsed into a glazed-over silence and was holding a now empty bowl, hovering over the brownie pan.
“Sorry, I was on another planet.” I smiled even though the weight of Beau’s presence had my knees shaking.
“Which one?” Clara asked seriously.
I pretended to think for a moment. “Neptune.”
She nodded. “Good choice.”
I winked at her. “I think so.”
I didn’t look at Beau. I couldn’t.
Clara and I were cuddled on the sofa. Brownies were cooling—her eyes repeatedly darted to the timer on my phone which was counting down how long we had until they were cool enough to eat.
My hangover was gone.
Beau was in his office.
I felt safe. Secure. The weight of this little child against me, the smell of brownies in a home that wasn’t mine, was enough to trick me into a false sense of security.
Then there was a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” I told Clara. “You keep watch on the timer.”
I figured the person at the door would be Elliot, Calliope, or Clara’s grandfather. Or any of the Jupiter crew who had stopped by here and there since the birthday party.
Someone for Clara or Beau.
I did not expect a six-foot man with perfectly styled blond hair and a tan too glowy to be real. He was wearing a tailored pair of slacks and a fisherman’s sweater that molded to his broad shoulders.
I squinted. The attractive, well-dressed man was remarkably familiar. “Cole?”
“Yes, bitch. Take me in. In the flesh.” He did a twirl, showcasing more of what had to be an expensive outfit. He was muscular, much glossier than the last time I saw him, but still Cole. Even when he barely had enough to eat, even when he didn’t have money for clothes, he always managed to look glamorous.
Now he looked like he had more than enough to eat—and by the look of his biceps, I guessed it was protein-based.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him, confused, shocked, and pleased to see my childhood friend.
I’d been surrounded by strangers for so long. People who were perfectly nice, but they were strangers. They were people I felt the need to hide my past from. I didn’t need to hide from Cole. He’d seen all of it.
It was a relief to be standing in front of someone who saw me for what I was.
His perfectly groomed brows crumpled. “You haven’t been returning my calls, and I needed a trip to the ocean. And a wellness check.” His eyes ran over me.
I shifted under his gaze. I was wearing gray sweats and a faded tee, my hair piled on top of my head. Usually, I wasn’t this casual when I was working, but I’d been unable to put thought into an outfit. Luckily, Beau hadn’t commented on my overly casual attire.
Of course, that’s when my glitzy, perpetually stylish friend turned up unannounced. Except he didn’t comment on my outfit, as he was accustomed to doing whenever we were together. He’d always shake his head at my lack of interest in fashion, adjusting things here and there to make me look better.
“You still have both your hands,” he said bizarrely.
I winced, looking down at my palms. “What?”
“Your hands,” he repeated. “You still have them. So you can’t say you lost them in an unfortunate smelting accident, an acceptable reason as to why you couldn’t call me.”
The back of my neck heated in shame. “Cole—”
He tapped his index finger against his chin. “Though they have a voice activation thing now, so even without hands, you could’ve powered on your phone. And you still have your voice, which means there is no tangible excuse for you to ditch me after finally leaving your loser husband and skipping town.” He narrowed his eyes. “I forgave you for that because I know Waylon is an asshole who would’ve made your life hell, and you needed distance. I accepted your bullshit texts and excuses. But then a year passes, and my best friend has essentially ghosted me like I was a blind date who used a ten-year-old picture in their profile pic.”