Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
"Only to someone who cares about you and is paying attention." Honey took a sip of her beer, her eyes never leaving my face. "So? Who was he?"
"No one." I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. "Just some guy passing through."
"Some guy," she repeated, clearly not buying it. "Some guy who's got you checking your phone every thirty seconds and touching your lips like you're remembering what his mouth felt like."
Heat crept up my neck. Was I really that transparent? "It was just sex, Honey. Nothing to write home about."
"You are so full of shit right now." She reached across the table and curled her fingers around my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. Honey had been my best friend since grade school. Her touch grounded me now when my emotions spun out of control with no hope of processing them all. "I know the difference between 'just got fucked' and 'can't stop thinking about getting fucked.' You're firmly in column B."
A prospect walked by, slowing as he passed our table. Honey shot him a glare that sent him scurrying away.
"Listen," I hissed, leaning closer. "It's nothing, OK? Just drop it."
"Not a chance." Honey's face softened slightly. "I know that look because I wore it the first time I fucked Jack. You met someone who got under your skin."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Maybe. But it doesn't matter. It can't go anywhere."
"Why not?" She tilted her head, studying me. "Ghost wouldn't approve?"
I barked out a laugh that contained zero humor. "Ghost would fucking murder him. Then probably me, too."
"Ah." Honey nodded slowly. "Another club?"
My silence answered for me. Honey was relatively new to this life, but being a quick learner helped. I couldn't bring myself to say the word "Copperheads" out loud.
Honey's eyes widened slightly as understanding dawned. "Fuck, Wren. Please tell me you didn't."
"I didn't know," I said quietly, staring at the bottle in my hands. "Not until… after."
"Shit." She drained half her beer in one go, then set the bottle down with more force than necessary. "Upstairs. Now."
"What?" I blinked at her.
"We are not having this conversation here." She stood, pulling me up by my wrist. "Your apartment. Right fucking now."
"It's not that big a deal," I protested weakly, but allowed her to drag me toward the stairs.
"Not that big a deal," she muttered, shaking her head. "Jesus Christ, girl. You have no idea."
I caught Ghost watching us from across the room, his silver eyes tracking our movement with that quiet intensity that missed nothing. He raised an eyebrow in silent question. I forced a casual smile and shrugged, like Honey was just being Honey, dragging me off for girl talk. Nothing to see here.
He didn't look convinced, but he turned back to his conversation with Jack, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The last thing I needed was Ghost getting involved in this mess. And if Ghost got involved, Bloody Jack would be right behind him.
Honey tugged me up the metal stairs to the second floor, her grip never loosening. My apartment door loomed ahead of us. I was so fucked.
Honey slammed my apartment door behind us as we entered and twisted the deadbolt with a decisive click. I tossed my keys onto the cluttered coffee table and paced across the worn carpet. My space wasn't much—living room connected to a tiny kitchen, bedroom off to the side, bathroom barely big enough to turn around in, but it was mine. Ghost had helped me fix it up when I moved in, the two of us painting the walls midnight blue, hanging shelves for my growing collection of bike manuals and horror novels. Now it felt like those walls were closing in as Honey crossed her arms over her chest and fixed me with that no-bullshit stare.
"Spill it," she demanded. "Everything. Now."
I grabbed a throw pillow from my couch as I sat and hugged it to my chest like a shield. "There's nothing to spill."
"Bullshit." Honey planted herself on the coffee table in front of me. "You've been walking around like a zombie for two days, checking your phone constantly, and I just watched you practically have a stroke when Ghost looked your way. So cut the crap and tell me what the fuck happened."
I suddenly felt so exhausted I wasn’t sure I could hold this conversation in any meaningful way that didn’t include the complete and honest truth. Honey knew me better than I knew myself. Always had.
Where to even begin? The way Rocky had watched me across the bar? The electricity when our hands touched? The fact that I couldn't stop replaying every moment of our night together? I sighed heavily. "His name is Rocky," I finally said, my voice quieter than I intended. "We met at the Valentine's Ball. He was... different."