Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“I...” A part of me wants to go home, put on my pajamas, and curl up with Ellis. But that feels like letting my stalker win. Plus, it probably is all in my head… tonight, anyway. “Let’s go back to the table. I could use some water.”
“Anything for you.”
His proclamation sends a dizzying rush of emotions through me. “You’re too good to me.”
“Not good enough.” He whistles low. “Trust me, I know I’ve got a lot to make up for, but I’m willing to put in the work.”
“I know you are.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “I am too, you know?”
“You are what?”
“Willing to put in the work. You weren’t the only one who was awful.”
“Maybe not, but I think our motives were pretty different. I was an asshole because I thought you chose Atlas over me and my fragile ego couldn’t handle it. Anything you threw my way was because I was a dick first.”
I shake my head, but a small smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “So emotionally mature.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you my therapists address so you can send him a thank you card.”
“Looks like our foods out,” I muse, as our server sets plates in front of our empty seats.
“You go sit,” Ellis tells me. “I’m going to run and get you an ice water.”
“Thank you.” His thoughtfulness stirs something deep inside of me. I’ve never had a guy take care of me, ever, and damn if I don’t love the way it makes me feel. Like I matter... like I’m valued... cherished, even.
Like I’m someone worth keeping...
THIRTY
SCARLET
The last few weeks have been some of the best of my life.
James’s birthday party—which was both train and construction themed—was perfect. Ellis and I even went in on a gift together. And don’t even get me started on how cute he was with his smash cake.
More importantly, my stalker has been blessedly quiet. Maybe he lost interest or found someone else to torment. Who knows? Hopefully the psycho’s in jail. All I know is I’m thankful for the reprieve.
Ellis, on the other hand, thinks his silence is the quiet before the storm, and he’s more protective than ever. He even insisted on tagging along for our final dress fitting and Nora’s bachelorette party—which he also roped Atlas into. I’ll never recover from seeing them both in fluffy spa robes, their faces painted with thick mud, and fruity mocktails clutched in their big paws.
“What’re you laughing at?” Ellis asks, pausing outside the bathroom door.
“Just thinking...” I swipe on a layer of lip gloss.
“About?” He leans into the room, bracing his hands on the door frame.
“You.”
“And thinking of me made you giggle like that?” He steps all the way into the room and grabs me by my waist, spinning me to face him.
I give him a once over, and my jaw drops. He looks freaking delicious, dressed in a dark button down, with the sleeves rolled, gray chinos, and black boots. “Holy hell, I cannot wait to see you in a suit.”
“You like?” he asks, picking imaginary lint from his shirt.
“I love.” My cheeks burn, and I know they’re as pink as my lip gloss. His are, too, but I refuse to think too hard about why. “You look very handsome.”
“And you look like a goddess.” He looks me over the same way I did him, taking in my little black dress and thigh high boots. “Let’s not get distracted. What were you thinking about, Princess?”
“You... at the spa.” I crack up all over again. “It might be the background on my phone.”
“Should’ve known.” He shakes his head like he’s annoyed but the ways his eyes crinkle at the corners tells me he’s not really. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”
“Not likely.” I turn away from him and unplug my curling iron. “You gonna tell me where we’re going finally?”
“No can do.” He rocks back on his heels.
“Yes, can do. You’re choosing not to.”
“God forbid I want to surprise the woman I—” He snaps his mouth closed so fast his teeth clack together.
“The woman you what?” I whisper, those four words freezing time.
I watch in fascination as he grimaces, his chest rises in time with his sharp inhale.
“Tell me,” I beg, stepping closer to him. “Please, Ellis. Tell me what you were going to say.” I wrap my arms around him, staring up into his stormy eyes.
“I lied to you,” he finally says, and the hope blossoming in me withers and dies.
“Oh, okay.” I drop my arms from around him and take a step back, bumping into the bathroom vanity. “A-about what?”
He scrubs a hand over his scruffy jaw. “French toast.”
“What?” I rest my weight against the counter, my mind racing for answers I don’t have.
“When you asked me why Atlas was so bent out of shape over the French toast, I lied.”