Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I say, and he grins, then rolls his eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing. You just look like you’re trying to hide.”
“I am trying to hide.” I step inside, and Lucas closes the door behind me.
“Why? I’ve literally known you since I was thirteen years old. Are we not allowed to be friends?”
He’s only saying what I was thinking moments ago, but still, it makes my stomach tighten and the back of my neck prickle, like I’m subconsciously considering… But I’m not. That can’t be. My head is just all over the fucking place right now. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be here at all.
“We can be friends,” I say. “I just…don’t want more noise, ya know?” I already have enough, and the loudest will be Coach Blake. He’ll find a reason why it’s wrong for me to be spending time with Lucas, but somehow blame him. I’ve seen enough of Lucas getting blamed for things that aren’t his fault, and I don’t want to be the source of it.
“Yeah, I know,” he says, his tone wistful. “Come in. Make yourself comfortable. I’m cooking.”
As soon as I breathe in, I notice the scents of breakfast foods permeating the air. “You’re cooking?”
“Did you expect me to pull breakfast out of my ass?”
“You know, you don’t always have to be such a dick.” I follow him to the kitchen. The living room, dining room, and kitchen space is huge, an open concept with windows along one wall, facing the Hollywood Hills.
“Are you telling me not to be myself? That’s not nice.”
“No. I’m telling you not to always act.”
“Who says I’m acting?” He quirks a brow, which peeks from under the blond hair on his forehead, and for a reason I can’t explain, my pulse skips a beat.
I immediately turn away from him, walking around like I want to explore his home, when really, looking at him is making my body do the kind of shit it shouldn’t be doing when looking at my dead boyfriend’s brother.
I think of Ellis that way most of the time, remind myself he’s gone, which probably shouldn’t be the case after all these years. Or hell, maybe I’m trying to punish myself, to hit the nail in over and over and over again so I can’t forget.
“You have an incredible view,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s what sold me on the place. I like to sit out on the balcony a lot.”
I nod and keep exploring the room. Most everything is done in black, gray, or white—white furniture, black tables, gray sculptures—the only color coming from pretty vases, all things I would never be able to pick out and decorate with on my own, but somehow, I know he did. The wall space is huge, filled with massive black-and-white photographs, most of different parts of the human body…a stray hand, a throat, a man’s pec, a silhouette of a woman, an ass, back, shoulders… “Did you take all these?”
“Yes,” Lucas says, flipping food on the stove. “They’re part of the Lust collection.”
I cock a brow. “Lust, huh?”
“I mean, look at them.”
He has a point. There’s something incredibly sexy about all of them, but especially the photos of something seemingly simple, like a pair of shoulders or the curve of a back.
“I’m making breakfast burritos, by the way, but I went out and got you turkey sausage and low-carb tortillas.”
There’s another skip in my pulse that he did that, for me, and that he remembers how I eat.
“But then I saw chocolate cake and couldn’t help but get that too.”
“Cake? We can’t have cake for breakfast.” I come closer, stopping on the other side of the counter.
“We’re adults. I assure you, we can have chocolate cake with breakfast if we want.”
I mean, I wouldn’t complain about a slice of cake, my stomach actually growling at the thought.
“You don’t have to try to be perfect all the time, Hunter.”
“I don’t try to be perfect,” I counter, but we both know that’s a lie.
“My father had a nutritionist give you a meal plan when you were a teenager.”
“I was training. I wouldn’t be where I am if it weren’t for your dad.”
“He’s not the one with the talent, Hunter. You are.” He grabs plates from the cabinet. “Breakfast is ready.”
I’m thankful that part of the conversation is over.
I meet him by the cabinet, taking one of the plates from him. I place the burrito on it, then grab some chopped fruit from a bowl on the counter. The chocolate cake looks so fucking delicious, but I skip it.
“I’ll meet you on the balcony,” he says, and I nod before going out, Lucas following a few moments later with glasses of orange juice. “Sorry. I can be pushy sometimes.” He rubs his hands over his eyes.
“I’m not perfect. I eat out. I drink. I do shit I’m not supposed to.”