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)
For a moment, her mask slips, and I see a flicker of something old—longing, or maybe forgiveness, or maybe just exhaustion.
The overhead lights go down, and then come up again, a warning shot from the staff. Five minutes.
Kat gathers the papers, stacks them with the care of someone folding an origami secret, and tucks them into her messenger bag. “I’m not saying yes,” she says. “I’m not saying anything. I need time to process, Talon. This is so much, with the revelations about your M.O., how you dedicated the book to me, and now, all this money.”
I nod. “Take all time you need, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting.”
She stands, gathering her things, and I watch the long line of her body, the way her hips roll in those jeans. I want to follow her out, drag her into the alley, beg her to let me start over. But I know better.
At the door, she pauses, glances back. “You gonna stalk me if I walk out of here?”
I laugh. “Never again.”
She seems to consider this, then reaches for the handle. As the bell above the door jingles, I blurt, “Wait—”
She turns, one eyebrow cocked.
I pull a card from my wallet, scribble a number on the back. “I just want to make sure you have my number if you ever want to talk. Or if you need a partner for crossword night.”
Kat takes it, tucks it into her pocket without looking at it. For a second, the whole world goes quiet.
She gives me a crooked smile, then steps out into the night.
The air outside is wet, the sidewalk slick with spring rain. I watch her walk away, the rhythm of her boots on the concrete fading, her hair a gold flame in the streetlight.
I don’t know if she’ll call. I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.
But I know that, for once, I did the right thing.
I stand in the doorway until I can’t see her anymore. Then I turn back into the empty bookstore, the world already a little smaller, a little grayer without Kat in it.
And for the first time since I lost her, I think maybe I could stand to write another chapter.
18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – SECOND CHANCES
Kat
The night air bites at my skin as soon as I burst from the bookstore. I should feel free, heroic, leaving Talon behind like the closing shot of a movie. Instead, I stagger around the corner, then plant my hands on my knees and try to breathe deeply. The sidewalk is slick with rain, every lamp-lit puddle reflecting the universe back at me with a shudder. My heart doesn’t slow; if anything, it ratchets up, like a squirrel loose in my ribcage.
I press a fist to my mouth and walk. Just walk, fast, like someone might be chasing me even though the only person who ever truly chased me is still in Century Pages, probably charming the staff with his devastating smile and dark good looks. I want to turn around and run back to him. I want to throw myself in Talon’s arms and cry, granting him my forgiveness. But I’m still conflicted because of all the revelations, and instead, I power-walk home, blowing past the circle of vape kids on the corner, the Uber Eats bikes, the drunk girls on the curb applying emergency mascara.
I get to my apartment and triple-lock the door, then wedge a rolling chair under the knob for good measure. It’s overkill, but tonight I am at Defcon 1. I peel off my dress, my skin prickling everywhere, and toss myself onto the futon. I pull out Angel’s Share, and for a second I want to throw it into the trash, anything to get it out of my sight. But I don’t. I just lie there, in my bra and panties, with the book balanced on my stomach and the sick, sweet weight of everything he said pulsing through my body.
I close my eyes and replay every moment of the conversation. The way Talon never blinked when he told me I was one of many women. The way he admitted that he’s roleplayed our scenes with other women before. The way he handed me a royalty contract with a hesitant look on his face. The incredible fifty percent split, which is bound to amount to millions.
I should feel nothing but disgust. Instead, the back of my neck burns with the memory of his mouth, his hands, the way he could wreck me with his words and a look. This is the problem with men like Talon: even when you hate them, they live in your blood. I want to scrub him out, but I know it won’t work.
I stay up until three, just pacing the perimeter of my tiny studio, occasionally pausing to grab a handful of trail mix or scroll through months of texts from Simone. She’s the only one who knows even a fraction of what I’ve been through, but I can’t tell her about what happened tonight. She’d either murder Talon or try to set me up with a rebound date within the hour. Neither is what I need.