Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
The first fan slides her copy across the table, eyes big with fake lashes that look like fans. “Can you make it out to ‘Angel’?” she coos flirtatiously.
I want to say no. But I nod, write the name, sign with a flourish. The line moves fast, all women, all smiling, some with cleavage on display, some biting their lips like they’re about to offer a blowjob under the table. I don’t give a shit. I don’t want any of them. I just want Kat to look at me, to say anything, even if it’s to tell me to fuck myself.
Twenty minutes later, the crowd starts to thin. The host is collecting folding chairs, the barista is sweeping up, and Kat is still standing by the window, arms now at her sides, fingers drumming on the shelf. I sign the last book, force a smile, and stand up.
It’s now or never.
I walk over. She doesn’t move, but I can tell that she knows I’m there. It’s in the subtle rise of her big bust, the awareness that we always have around each other. I stop, three feet away, hands in my pockets.
“Hi, Kitten,” I say, voice so low only she can hear.
She looks at me, finally, and for a second I see everything I ever wanted in her eyes.
Then it’s gone.
She gives a small laugh. “You never change, do you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to.”
She looks down at the floor, then back up. “You wrote a romance novel. I didn’t think it was in the books, pardon my pun.”
I don’t smile, my blue eyes piercing.
“I wrote it for you.”
She doesn’t answer, just stands there, breathing.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know what the next line is supposed to be.
I swallow, hard. “Do you want to talk?”
She shrugs, the movement making her tits bounce in a way that kills me. “Is there anything left to say?”
I nod. “Yeah. Everything.”
She bites her lip, then gives the smallest of nods.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding since she walked in.
“Then let’s talk, Kat. Please.”
I’m not a man who generally begs, but at this point, the golden goddess has me writhing in her hand. She looks at me, blue eyes so clear it hurts.
“Five minutes,” she says. “That’s all.”
I nod, pulse thundering, as the crowd fades and it’s just the two of us.
And for the first time since I let her go, I feel something close to hope.
We retreat to a small area behind a towering shelf. It’s relatively quiet, and I suppose this is as good of a place as any.
“You look tired,” Kat murmurs, her hands folded demurely.
I grin. “You should see the other guy.”
She’s trying to be angry, but it’s not sticking. Her lips twitch, and I remember the way she used to bite them when she was nervous.
“Why did you do it?” she asks. “Why write a romance? If I remember correctly, you were only under contract for a thriller.”
I want to give her a clever answer, a line from the jacket copy, but the truth comes out raw.
“I missed you,” I say. “I missed you so fucking much I had to build you from scratch just to get through the day.”
She blinks, then shakes her head, like she can’t believe I’m this much of a disaster. “That’s not healthy, Talon.”
“I know,” I say. “But it’s true.”
She uncrosses her arms, hands at her sides now. “You broke me,” she says, voice quiet. “I want you to know that. I didn’t think I’d ever be okay again.”
I nod. “I know. And I’ll never forgive myself.”
She looks away, at the mural over the fireplace. It’s a painting of the town in winter—empty streets, bare trees, a sky the color of old newspaper.
“You know what the worst part was?” she says. “It wasn’t the lies, or the roleplay, or the sex. It was that you made me believe I could be something more, and then you just stopped. It was like it was all fake, and everything you said was a lie to get me into bed. Like you’d spun a story and when the music stopped, I was left with nothing but illusions.”
I step closer. “I never stopped. I just didn’t know how to tell you that I’d fallen for you.”
She laughs, a little bitter. “You wrote a whole fucking novel, Talon. You know how to communicate.”
I laugh too, but it hurts. “You’re right. I’m a coward, and my timing has always been off. I didn’t act in the moment, and I regret that. I regret so much, Kitten.”
The bookstore is silent now. The barista is cleaning the espresso machine. The lights are soft, golden. Outside, snow is falling in slow, heavy flakes.
“Can I show you something?” I ask.
She hesitates, then nods.
I pull a galley copy of Angel’s Share out of my bag. I flip to the dedication page, and hand it to her.