Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
My voice drops low. “You have to promise me you’ll be careful. No going off against him until there’s a firm plan in place and all of us have your back.”
Bear laughs, the sound like gravel. “Look at my little brother trying to watch over me now. I might be old, boy, but I’m not stupid.”
“I want your word,” I growl, not willing to give it up.
“Stop worrying. I’m not stupid.”
“Good,” I breathe.
Bear grins. “You crashing here tonight?”
“Yeah. I prefer your old lady’s cooking for breakfast over mine,” I joke. Honestly—I want the comfort. I want the closeness. I miss my family. It’s the biggest reason I want to move back into the club. The last two years—living in New York, making a big enough name and work history for myself, all so that people would take this seriously—has been hell. I want to come home—fully. Although, if things work out with Olivia, I may have to build a house for her like he did for Ayita. I’m not sure she’d be entirely comfortable at the club. I really need to learn her history …
“Your room in the basement is ready,” he responds, before adding with mischief in his eyes, “I’m going to go make my woman scream my name.”
I roll my eyes. “Give me time to close the door to the basement and my bedroom, please. I don’t want to listen to that shit.”
His laughter follows me as I head downstairs. I close the door to my room, strip quickly, drop my phone on the mattress like it’s a live wire and flop back. I allow myself to relive spending time with Olivia this evening—remembering the steady beat of her pulse under my thumb, the shape of her smile, the sound of her laughter, and the way her eyes shined with happiness when she watched Bear and Ayita together.
I let my thumb wake the phone, find the appropriate screen, then type.
Me: You home safe?
Her reply comes fast, like she’s been waiting to answer me.
Olivia: Yeah, no issues. Thanks for walking me out.
Blade: Anytime. Looking forward to tomorrow.
Olivia: It’s Sat. You should go out instead.
Blade: I will be out. With the only girl I want to see and her dad.
Olivia: You’re very bossy.
Blade: I’ll make you like it.
Olivia: I keep hearing that.
Blade: You should listen.
She sends a string of emojis—one that’s laughing and one that’s a face I don’t know what to call but I like it—and then:
Olivia: Sweet dreams, Blade.
Blade: Sweet dreams, Usdi.
Even though I know that the conversation is over, I’m disappointed when she doesn’t respond. I put the phone on the nightstand and click the lamp off. The room goes dark in the kind of way that makes the rest of the world shrink to the size of the two of us—me and the idea of her. I lie there, eyes on the ceiling, feeling the night settle into my bones.
Tonight was effortless and electric. I have it bad. I know it. I’m not even going to try to hide from it. There’s only one thing that edges the happiness with a jag of cold—the truth. I can’t tell her who I really am. Not yet. Not until I’ve got everything where it needs to be, until I can stand in front of her without the rest of it clawing at my throat. I’ll need to make her fall in love with me so deeply that when the truth hits—when she learns the other side of me—she’ll forgive me for hiding it.
I roll onto my side and let the dark wrap around me. The rain hushes to a soft whisper. The phone is warm where it sits, and my last thought before sleep eases me is simple and unoriginal, but still fucking true.
I want Olivia. I’ve never felt like this before, and I know that she is the woman I want to claim as mine. One night with her made me that positive. I want to keep her, and, by God, I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.
She’s it. My one.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
7 OLIVIA
I take one last look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair actually cooperates tonight—soft waves falling over my shoulders, still warm from the blow dryer. I tug at the hem of my cream-colored sweater, the one that feels like being wrapped in a cloud. I paired it with my smooth and soft flannel leggings patterned with a faint gray plaid. Casual. Comfortable. The kind of outfit made for lounging around the house. But it’s still kind of pretty. Pretty enough that maybe Blade will notice I took a little time to look nice.
Acid rolls in my stomach as nerves threaten to take me under. Blade could have anyone he wants—women who don’t fill with stress at the drop of a hat, the kind of woman who glides through life instead of stumbling through it. Blade looks like he was carved by someone who knew exactly how dangerous beauty could be. A Greek god in jeans and a leather jacket. And I’m just me—attached to a crap-ton of baggage.