Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
She nodded slowly and asked, “Are you going to tell him she showed tonight?”
“Of course I’m going to tell him.”
That said, I wasn’t looking forward to that convo. Not having to lay that on him after he sat down with Brady (for me). Not ever.
“I’m sorry, babe,” she murmured.
“I am too.”
“How did she find you?”
“My guess?”
She nodded.
“Gypsy.”
“Gypsy knows about you?”
“My guess again?”
She nodded again.
“I bet Gypsy keeps tabs on her brother. Especially after one of her thugs shot him.”
“And if she’s feeling more forgiving of the mom unit than Knox is, and Gypsy told the mom he’d been hurt, the mom is now freaking and wants to make sure her boy is okay.”
“She should have made sure he got to junior football practice when he was eleven,” I snapped.
“Luna, honey, you’re among friends,” Raye cooed, reaching out and stroking my arm to soothe me. “I agree with you. I’m just trying to suss this out.”
I shut my mouth.
“Do you want to go back up to your apartment. Ditch tonight? I can give you a full debrief tomorrow.”
“No, I’m going.”
“Maybe—”
“I need to take my mind off that, and I need time to figure out how I’m going to tell Knox about it. He’ll definitely be home before me. He’ll also definitely be pissed as fuck his mom ambushed me. Another hour or two will assist me in the endeavor of finding the right words.”
“Whatever you need.”
That was what a friend said (so fuck you, all Dream’s ex-friends).
That was what made the foundation of a good partner, which would in turn form the foundations of a good mom (so fuck you, Cynthia Chambers).
That was what Knox had with the Hottie Squad.
The rest of the bullshit, he was out.
And we’d agreed that I wasn’t going to ask Dimitri to make that clear to Gypsy et al.
But damn it all to hell.
I just changed my mind.
TWENTY-ONE
THE RED BEAR
I walked into my apartment, preceding Knox and Brady.
Jacques ran to us, stopped, sniffed the hem of my dress, my foot, and started licking.
I turned when I heard Brady mutter (his mutter laced liberally with humor), “Later, brother.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Knox replied.
And oh yeah, his voice was laced with humor too.
A lot of it.
I watched them clasp hands and bump chests, Knox doing this holding the handles of the to-go bag he had, but that night had been such that I did not rejoice in seeing this male camaraderie.
Stiffly, I walked to the bathroom.
In it, I took off my shoes.
Instantly, Jacques grabbed one by the strap and dragged it out of the bathroom.
I let it go. I’d already said my sad goodbye to those boss shoes.
I stepped into the shower and shed my dress and underwear.
Silently, Knox appeared, scooped up my clothing and kept his face averted as he turned, bent to nab the remaining shoe and strode out of the bathroom.
But I still saw his lips twitching.
I adjusted the nozzle before I turned it on so the water wouldn’t hit me until it was warm.
I watched Knox return with one of his tees (men dug women in their tees, as pertains to Knox, this was okay with me because I loved wearing his tees) with a clean pair of panties on top.
He set it on the lid of the toilet, looked at me, his eyes danced, my eyes thinned, and he walked out again.
When the temperature was right, I stepped under the spray of the shower, doing it looking down.
Red ran down the drain.
Allow me to rewind.
The evening started out killer.
Honestly, I wished real life could go slow-mo and a natural wind would come up to blow our hair and artfully drift through our dresses because when the Angels rolled into the Red Bear, we were working it.
My dress was hot. Raye’s dress was class. Harlow’s cutesy lilac number was adorable. Jessie’s black cigarette pants and satin blouse were awesome. Shanti’s tight black cami and wide leg marigold satin pants were stylin’. Willow’s plunge-back white top with quarter-length sleeves, black tailored short-shorts and delicate silver heels were daring. Gemma’s black wraparound top with black-and-white checked, sheer flowy skirt were the perfect mix of sexy and feminine. And Joey’s white tank, tangle of necklaces and shiny champagne jeans were rock ’n’ roll chic.
I was totally having visions in my head of brushing my curls away from my face in a slow-mo head shake as the girls, waltzing along the red rug that ran up to the carved wood double door, made our way to the Red Bear.
When we got inside, we all had just enough sophistication not to oo and ahh verbally, we just did it in our heads (and I knew I wasn’t the only one because I saw their faces said the same thing my mind was saying).
When we met Dimitri there months ago, we didn’t go to the restaurant proper. We went to his den tucked at the back of the restaurant beyond the kitchen. It had a welcoming, professorial feel. Even so, it totes gave Russian mob vibes.