Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
One eye cracks open. “You didn’t crash and burn, so that’s a start.”
I change my grip, working the pad of my thumb in slow circles. She makes a small involuntary sound that goes straight to my ego.
“You’re very good at that,” she murmurs.
“It’s the hands.”
She shifts, her other leg brushing my ribcage as she resettles herself deeper into the cushions.
“You look tired,” she announces softly.
“I am.”
“You could’ve gone home.”
I keep my focus on her heel, kneading away at the small knots. “Tonight sucked.”
“I gathered,” she says. “Does it have anything to do with me?”
That gives me pause.
Juliette is far more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for, including me. On the other hand, anyone with a lick of common sense would reason that this drama with Declan involves her in some way—he and I wouldn’t have tension otherwise.
I can see she’s hopeful I’ll deny it. That would sure make this easier.
Still. I’ve already told so many fucking lies; why not be honest at least once about my intentions?
“I don’t love how he was speaking to you this morning,” I admit. “I don’t know the specifics, but I’ll use my imagination.”
“He thinks I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says quietly. “But isn’t that how most big brothers treat their sisters?”
I wouldn’t know.
Sutton would eat me alive if I tried bossing her around.
“I’m not like that with my sister.” I shrug, pressing into her big toe. “I think Declan underestimates you,” I say. “Which isn’t the same thing.”
She studies me for a long moment. “So this is about me.”
“It’s not because of you,” I correct, exhaling. “He and I have been circling the drain.”
Juliette goes quiet a few seconds. “And neither of you are going to tell me why.”
It’s a statement not a question, and rather than respond, I continue massaging her foot. Set it aside to begin working on the other one, watching as her eyes slide closed again.
“He doesn’t trust me,” I say finally, giving her a nugget of information. “But to be fair, I don’t trust him, either.”
Her eyes open. “Can I ask you something?”
Here it comes.
“I know it’s probably too soon to be having this discussion, but considering the relationship you have with my brother, and the way this seems to be evolving…” Her voice trails off. “Are things between us getting serious? Or are you bored?”
Bored?
That almost makes me laugh.
“Why would you think I’m bored?” I ask, feigning lightness in my tone.
“You’ve had serious relationships before,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And that ended, and it’s been barely a month. I’m not trying to interrogate you,” she goes on. “I’d love to know what I’m signing up for.”
“Signing up for?” I echo.
“Yes.” She gestures vaguely between us. “What is this? Are we just having sex and keeping this casual? Or are you trying to date me?”
The bluntness of it almost makes me smile.
She doesn’t flinch when she says sex, doesn’t blush. She’s not being clingy or annoying—she’s protecting herself.
Goddamn, she’s adorable.
The entire thing gives me a sudden case of regret. Juliette Kennedy is someone I could see myself dating long-term. She’s sweet, caring, and kind. Beautiful, but that’s hardly the best part.
She teases me. Is affectionate. Pushes herself out of her comfort zone. Better still, she’s not a social climber.
Doesn’t name drop.
Couldn’t care less about the perks, she only cares about people.
And if I weren’t sitting on a landmine with her brother ready to yank the cord on a stick of dynamite, who’s to say we wouldn’t have stood a chance?
I glance over at her, studying her angelic face.
The blonde hair, made messy from her Ice Wolves hat. The rosy flush across her cheeks. The pink lips.
I imagine what it would be like to wake up with her every morning. Hold her hand while we’re taking a walk through the city or buying a house with a yard.
A dog.
Having kids, the same way my sister did.
Jesus Christ, Aaron—get a fucking grip.
You are not buying a house with Juliette Kennedy.
But you could…
I don’t daydream like this. I don’t daydream at all, or let my mind run ahead to white picket fences and long-term anything. I live in seasons.
Contracts.
Games.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Like what?” I smile, wanting to touch her.
“Like this.” Juliette pulls a face, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.
Cute.
Very cute.
I roll my eyes. “That is not what I look like.”
She smiles at me, blonde halo framing her face. “What’s on your mind right now? I know that’s a cringey question but it feels like the right time to ask.”
“I’m thinking.”
Her voice hums. “About?”
I hesitate. Do I tell her I mentally bought her a fucking house with a swing set so our imaginary golden retriever could run around the backyard?
Probably not.
Her gaze searches mine. “You think I’m complicated?”