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)
“I was lucky and born with money.” At least, that’s what my father always says—how lucky I am, how much I squander it, how spoiled I am, and how I’ve never worked hard for anything. Translation: I didn’t work hard for football. But I didn’t want football. Never had, never will. Conversely, I’ve worked my ass off for my photography and art, built a career that’s surprising for someone my age—Eddie’s right. And while my father’s money gave me a head start, I am what I am because I love what I do. It’s the only thing I’ve ever loved besides my family, even if to most of them, I’ll never be good enough.
I’ll never be Ellis.
Ellis, who is gone.
I sit up on the edge of the bed, not wanting those thoughts in my head, not having it in me to think about him right now.
“Should I leave?” Eddie asks.
“That depends. If you give me a few minutes, I can go again if you’re interested.” I look at him over my shoulder. He’s sexy as hell, not the perfect LA body like most people I see—a little soft in some places, with wide, playful eyes that would probably dim if he spent more than a day with me. It’s what I tend to do to people.
“I could go again,” he says.
Sex and art are my go-to distractions, the two things I can always depend on. “Then stay.”
CHAPTER THREE
Hunter
“Tonight should be fun.” Haven wraps her arms around me from behind, pressing her lips between my shoulder blades as I pull on my underwear. She’s a hookup who’s become a friend—at least in the only way I let people be my friends anymore. It’s nothing more than sex to either of us. She knows I don’t have it in me to love anyone after Ellis. I made sure she understood the score from the first time, but what started as just sex has morphed into liking to spend time with her. She doesn’t ask more of me than I can give, and honestly, if I ever did want more—which I wouldn’t—Haven would tell me to fuck off. That’s why it works with her, why she’s a good fuck buddy for me to have.
“It’s a party at an art gallery. How fun can it be?” I ask, half joking, half serious. I don’t know anything about art. It’s just not something that’s ever been on my radar or something I’ve thought about enough to care about learning more.
“You’re just allergic to fun. I can’t believe I got you to go.”
She’s right. I don’t do much, and when I do, it’s stuff that the old me didn’t care much about—like going out or finding a woman to fuck.
Haven pulls on her G-string, then her tiny black dress.
I grab a black suit from the closet, get dressed, and soon we’re sliding into the back seat of a luxury sedan, her driver behind the steering wheel.
Haven is a self-made millionaire who’s married to her job even more than I am, which works for me. Don’t get me wrong, she knows how to have fun, but between that and always being on the go, I have no idea when she sleeps.
“Kismet just opened a couple of months ago,” she tells me, “but it’s already making a name for itself.”
“Art galleries make names for themselves?”
She swats my thigh. “Yes, asshole.”
“What does one do at a party at an art gallery?”
“Drink and socialize. Be nice, or I’ll have Leon drop you off right here.”
I chuckle, then immediately feel guilty for letting myself enjoy something. Still, I manage to hide the weight bearing down on me. “That’s not the threat you think it is.”
“Fine. I guess I’ll just blow you to see if that helps your mood.”
Leon laughs from the front seat. From what she’s told me, Leon has been her driver and friend for years, and there’s no one she trusts more.
She doesn’t blow me, though, and that would likely be a step too far for me even in my current wannabe-bad-boy era.
Before I know it, we’re pulling up at the gallery in the Arts District in Downtown LA.
“Have a good night.” Leon smirks at me. “See you next time, Mr. King.”
We’re not leaving together tonight. Haven has a flight to New York after midnight, so Leon will take her to the airport, and I’ll get myself back home. I’m hoping that means she won’t want to stay out late, but knowing Haven, she won’t leave until the last minute.
The gallery is on the bottom floor of a large warehouse. I wonder if it has roof access… I’d much rather be up there tonight than in a room full of people. The collar on my shirt already feels too tight, and I slip my mask further into place—the mask of the guy who doesn’t care about anything other than football and having a good time. It’s what everyone wants. They don’t want to see me grieving. They want me to be nothing but the Hunter King they’ve always known. I’d do anything to get back to being him too, and not feel so empty all the time.