Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
I writhe under him, unable to hold back a scream.
“Shhh…” He sucks a nipple between his teeth, making the pleasure even more intense. “Unless you want everyone to hear what I’m doing to you…”
“I can’t…” I breathe. “I—” His hand covers my mouth, muffling a scream that I’m sure everyone downstairs would’ve heard if he didn’t.
I’m trembling so hard the mattress shakes under me, and Jameson leans closer and whispers into my ear.
“I won’t,” he says. “I fucking won’t…”
“Huh?” I struggle to catch my breath. “You won’t what?”
“Leave you again…” He stiffens seconds later, biting back a groan as he finds his release.
He remains inside me as he comes down, and he runs a hand against my collarbone.
“I hate parties, Scarlett,” he whispers. “Especially weekend ones like this…I’d like to go back to New York City tonight.”
“Okay.” I nod. “I understand.”
“With you,” he says. “You should leave here too, and come home with me.”
“Until you decide you need time and space again?”
“No.” He kisses my shoulder. “We’ll figure ‘us’ out.”
“But you said—”
“Stop talking before I realize what I’m saying.” He slowly pulls out of me. “Get dressed so we can go home.”
HEARSAY (N.):
SECOND-HAND EVIDENCE IN WHICH THE WITNESS IS NOT TELLING WHAT HE/SHE KNOWS PERSONALLY, BUT WHAT OTHERS HAVE SAID TO HIM/HER
SCARLETT
Jameson’s hand is entwined in mine behind the gear shift as we cross the Triborough Bridge.
We haven’t said a word this entire drive, but I haven’t felt the need to; the silence feels more than comfortable.
“Call from… Mother.” His dashboard suddenly lights up in blue, announcing a call. “Should I answer this, Mr. Tate?”
“Never,” he responds, clenching his jaw.
“Call from… Mother.” The dashboard repeats itself. “Should I answer this, Mr. Tate?”
“I said no,” he says.
“Okay. Will not answer.” The screen flashes white, then gray. “This contact is attempting to leave a voicemail. Would you like me to play it?”
“No.”
“Okay. Playing it.”
“Jesus Christ…” He groans and reaches forward to turn down the volume, but he suddenly changes his mind.
“James—” The woman’s voice is soft and airy. “I mean, Jameson. Please pick up the phone for me or your stepfather sometime this week? There’s a lot happening here at home, and I know with that date coming up you’re probably…” She sighs. “I love you, son. Please call me.”
Beep!
“End of message,” the dashboard says. “Would you like me to play it again?”
“Yes,” he says to my surprise. “Play it again.”
The system obliges, and when it ends, Jameson asks for a replay four more times.
Then he demands for it to be deleted.
He looks over at me as we pull into traffic.
“I don’t get along with my mother either,” he says. “I can relate.”
“Is it because of something she’s said?”
“Something she’s done.” He looks wistful. “Something completely unforgivable.”
I nod, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he steers us into the right lane.
“Are you planning to tell me how your auditions are going, or do I have to fuck it out of you later this week?”
“I think they’re going well,” I say. “I should’ve received a notification about whether I landed a part in The Producers as of yesterday.”
“You haven’t checked?”
“I have two more parts that should’ve sent emails today, so I’ll check before I go to bed,” I say. “That way I can cry myself to sleep when they turn me down.”
“And if you actually get the parts?”
“That’s never happened before, so I wouldn’t know.” I shrug. “Besides, I need to start looking up classes that meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays for next semester so I can figure out how I can still pursue acting and commute to Harvard without my mom ever knowing—”
“Stop.” He slows the car to a stop and looks over at me. “You don’t need to figure out a better way to lie, Scarlett. You just need to live your life and let everyone else deal with it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I say. “Your father isn’t a criminal, and his name isn’t Lucas Hunter.”
“My father is currently…” He doesn’t finish that sentence. “Your father can only get to you if you let him.”
“Maybe you need to look through his files again.” I cross my arms. “I may not know everything he does, but if he wants to get to me, I assure you he’ll move hell and high water to make it happen.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But he’d never get the police involved… Only his top lawyer, and I have a good feeling he would never snitch on you.”
“Yes, well…” I don’t have a rebuttal for that.
“Stop lying.” He leans over and kisses me hard. “You don’t need to do that anymore.”
“I’ll try.”
“Try hard,” he says. “And check to see if you got the parts.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Right now.”
“My best friend Jeneva would’ve called or texted me if I did, so… I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
He shifts the gear into park, making it clear that we’re stuck here until I obey.