Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
His joke hits me out of nowhere, like a catapult of relief to the heavy weight of the feelings I’m stuck in.
I smile, taking a deep breath and shaking my head.
“I do like your cock. Your cock is a goddamn gift to the world, Chase. And you still know I meant more than that.”
He swallows, nodding. “Fine. Who cares? We like being around each other, but we both really fucking need to figure some shit out. We can break the addiction, right?”
The shield inside me only gets stronger, hardening in me like I’m shutting my heart back into a box.
See?
He wants to be mature. Do the right thing.
So why does it feel like it’s tearing me to pieces?
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and I know it’s Emily letting me know my car is downstairs.
“It’s been fucking fun,” Chase says, and he gives my hip a little pinch. “I think you’re late for that car, and I’m about to be late for my shift.”
For some reason I keep staring at his necklaces.
The way they rest against his chest, and the memory of when I first noticed them.
But maybe I just keep looking at them because I’d break if I looked up at his eyes.
I suddenly worry he’s going to kiss me. He hasn’t yet, not even once, but if he did, I don’t know how I could let him go.
He sticks his hands into my back pockets and gives my ass a tight squeeze. He gives me a little salute, and when I finally muster the courage to look at his eyes, there’s none of that ferocious crackle in the green.
He feels so far away from me. Even before he turns and walks to the door.
I hear the sound of the door opening, and I’m frozen in place.
And then I hear it close behind him.
No kiss.
No needy, clingy protesting.
It’s been fucking fun.
The hotel suite suddenly feels deafening in its quiet. Like all the energy has been sapped from the space, leaving it grey, blank, colorless.
I pace to the door.
I almost open it, three or four times, hoping he’d be on the other side of it, or at the elevator, or that he’d rush back in and tackle me to the floor to leave a final mark on my skin.
But none of that happens.
A couple of other workers come to the door a minute later to grab all of my bags. They take me down the elevator to the lobby, and I walk through the back door of the Bellwood for the final time, into the alleyway.
Cameras flash from the edge of the alley as I step out, the lights blinding me.
“Logan! Headed to the airport?”
“Oh my God, it’s him!” a girl’s voice comes from the gate behind the alley. “Big D!”
I don’t feel like I’m in my own body. It’s like I’m coming up for air after being underwater, and this world feels so different to where I’ve been.
This is my life.
As I slide into the back of the black SUV, I feel something shift in my back pocket.
I reach into it and realize there’s a paper in there.
I pull it out, unfolding a small, cream-colored piece of paper.
He must have shoved it in my pocket when he gripped me there, before leaving.
My chest clenches as I hold the paper.
It’s a drawing of the rooftop.
A little sketch that has everything. The view of the city. The neon sign, across the street. The black access door, and even a tiny bottle of Scotch sitting on the ground.
There are two figures there, standing at the edge of the roof, looking out at the world below.
One figure’s head is resting on the shoulder of the other. They look like they belong together. Like they make sense. Like they have everything they want.
There’s a note scrawled above it in the sky.
Thanks for bothering me.
I didn’t want you to, and I’m fucking glad you did.
X
- C
CHAPTER 10
CHASE
ONE YEAR LATER
Yeah, I’ve fucking lost it.
And I’m not even a little bit sorry.
Tonight has felt like being pushed out of a plane, suddenly, wondering how the fuck I got on the plane in the first place, and praying that there would be a parachute on my back as I plunged down toward the ground.
Except worse.
Or better.
Because skydiving couldn’t possibly make my heart drop through my chest in the same way that Logan Stone does.
I pace back and forth on the rooftop, trying to feel nothing.
But it’s real.
Logan is back at the Bellwood Hotel after a year.
Rumors about his stay at the Bellwood started a few weeks ago, and I didn’t believe it at first. He wouldn’t come back here. But I came up to the rooftop about ten minutes ago, when he was slated to arrive, and I saw his driver pull up in the back alley.