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)
I swallow, throat burning. “You’re right.”
She nods, as if confirming a data point. Then she bites her lip again, harder, and I almost groan out loud. Even now, she can wreck me with one gesture.
“You know what’s crazy?” she whispers, almost to herself. “Even after all this, I still want to be with you. Even if you’re the world’s biggest asshole.”
I choke out a laugh. “I’m not proud of it, but the feeling is mutual, sweetheart.”
We sit there, letting the silence ring loud between us. The bookstore is empty now, the only sound the distant thrum of the espresso machine winding down for the night.
She leans in, just enough that I can smell her perfume—sweet, with a hint of her feminine musk underneath. “So what do we do now?”
I grip the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. “Whatever you want, Kitten. I’m done making the rules because I want this to be about you.”
She doesn’t answer right away. But her eyes are different now—wide, baby blue, and maybe even a little bit hopeful.
I wonder if she can see that I’m trembling. The coffee’s gone cold in my mug, but my chest is on fire. I stare at my own hands—big, bronzed, useless—and realize I have no more secrets to give. Kat’s waiting, delicate features impassive, but I can tell she wants me to keep talking. Maybe she’s waiting for me to finally say something real.
So I do.
“I didn’t know how to handle it when you left,” I admit. The words scrape on the way out. “I thought I’d done the right thing—let you go clean, no messy fallout. But then it was like the air in the cabin turned toxic. Every page I tried to write felt like poison.”
She watches me, one eyebrow arched. It’s both skeptical and curious, and for some reason, it makes me want to confess everything, even the ugly parts I’ve never said out loud.
“I didn’t finish the book I was supposed to,” I say. “Didn’t even come close. I ghosted my editor, missed every deadline, and spent three weeks straight just pacing the house, drinking and rewriting the same fucking sentence.”
Her pink lips twitch. “That’s almost romantic, if you ignore the alcoholism.”
I snort, and the tension in my neck loosens by a fraction. “Yeah, well. After a while, I gave up on the thriller. I opened a new file and started writing our story—yours and mine. I didn’t even start with the cabin porn, or the roleplay we did. I wrote what I wish I’d said when you were still there.”
Kat’s eyes soften, and for the first time, I see the edge of a smile. She doesn’t say anything, just waits me out, so I keep going.
“I wrote it all down. The truth, the lies, the way I wanted you so bad it scared me shitless. I never meant to publish it, at first. I just wanted to see if I could make it make sense. If I could find some way to fix what I’d fucked up.”
She leans forward, elbows on the table, the neckline of her top sliding just enough to give me a flash of pale cleavage. Her big bust is lush and tempting, and the sight makes me ache with longing, but I force myself to ignore the fire igniting in my groin. This moment is too important to fuck up.
“So when did you realize you had an actual book?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. “And why did you publish it?”
I look down, embarrassed, and trace a crack in the tabletop with my finger. “Because I didn’t want to hide. Not from you, not from anyone. I wanted to announce to the world how much I adored you because I couldn’t get through via any other channel. Maybe, just maybe, the book would be enough.”
Her mouth falls open, and she blinks hard, as if that wasn’t the answer she expected.
I rush to fill the silence. “I know it’s stupid. I know it doesn’t undo anything. But I wanted you to see it, to see yourself in the story, and to see how the tale is a homage to you, Kitty Kat. To us. Not as a joke, or a plot device, but as the best thing that ever happened to me.”
There’s a pause, and in it, the universe seems to hold its breath.
Kat reaches for her mug, and her fingers brush against mine. The contact is light, accidental, but it zaps through me like a live wire. I freeze, waiting for her to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, her thumb grazes the back of my hand, once, twice, like she’s testing the texture of old scars.
“Is that why you changed the dedication? I saw that the initial draft had my initials,” she murmurs, her voice different now—gentler, uncertain.
I nod. “I wanted to put your name, or at least some acknowledgment. But I didn’t want to out you either. Didn’t want the world sniffing around, trying to figure out who K.V. was. I thought… if you ever wanted to tell people, it’d be your choice. Not mine.”