Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
I intake a deeper breath and shift my hand down his back.
Watching him pass out has eased the residual tension in my muscles.
I can’t believe I asked him if he’s using cocaine. Then again, I can. Because I still have Beckett’s threat riding my ass. Beyond that, I would never forgive myself if Tom got swept up in hard drugs on this tour.
Mister Feathers makes tiny chirps from his cage across the room. The one time I woke to him right beside my face, I almost slapped him off the pillow in shock (not fright, like Tom believes). Thankfully I didn’t harm the bird, but Ben locks him up now whenever I spend the night.
The warmth of Tom against my body is soothing. Even if my eyes feel rough. Heavy. I close them.
“Phoenix.” Tom nudges me awake.
I’m startled for a second. “The fuck—what time is it?” I ask, sounding more alert than groggy.
“Time for me to go.” He stares at my eyes. “Stay here? I’ll come back tonight after dinner.”
“You sure?” It’s a lot of travel. It’s easier for him just to spend the night at his parents’ McMansion in Philadelphia and meet up tomorrow.
“Yeah. You should sleep.” He’s scrutinizing me harder. There might be dark half-moons under my eyes. I wonder if he can finally tell something’s not right with me.
I haven’t been actively trying to hide anything. I’ve just been existing how I always exist, but there is a part of me that prefers Tom not knowing I’m an insomniac. Or else I would’ve told him already. I haven’t wanted to worry him over something I’ve dealt with for years, but it might be a conversation that needs to happen at some point.
He’s my boyfriend.
It’s such a warm feeling that I wonder if I’ll be able to fall back asleep when he leaves. I lie in his bed under the black silk sheets, slowly processing that I just slept for six uninterrupted hours. Six.
I can’t remember the last time that happened.
What was so special? I wrack my brain. I didn’t even fuck Tom. I just held him against my chest—but I’ve done that before. I slept on my back. Done that before too.
I can’t figure it out.
Was it this room? The bed? Is his mattress made for a literal god?
Mister Feathers squawks from his cage. No…the bird…it’s not the bird. Is it? I skim the stark-white feathers and bright yellow crest of the cockatoo. “You a good luck charm?” I ask him.
He chirps into a low-pitched, “Tally-ho!”
My breathing is hard. I hate the idea that it’s just random. Which is most likely the case. It’d be easier, if there were a reason. If I could replicate it. But I need to just be glad it happened at all.
Closing my eyes, I try to drift off again, but my brain won’t stop spinning. Defeated, I pull back the sheets and take a quick, blue-lit shower in Tom’s fancy bathroom. The apartment is dead silent. All the Cobalts have evacuated for their tea party.
I’m about to go out for ramen when I get a text.
HARRIET
Want to do dinner?
A while back, I exchanged numbers with Ben’s girlfriend. Tom and I were at her place of work one night—this cool dive bar called Where You Want to Be at the End of the World.
She bartends with Ben, and while Tom and I worked on the album, one of my favorite movies played on the bar’s projector screen: The Day After Tomorrow. All about New York freezing over in an apocalyptic superstorm.
Tom’s commentary during the film should’ve annoyed the shit out of me, but I couldn’t stop laughing every five minutes. Remembering how he made me feel actually causes me to turn and look for him behind me.
Right. He left. No one is there, and we’ve barely been apart for that long.
“Jesus,” I mutter to myself with the shake of my head. I knew I was attached to him, but fuck.
Harriet is usually alone on Wednesday nights like I am. Before I can reply, she sends me two more rapid texts.
HARRIET
You can say no if you want to, dude. No pressure.
But I’m not saying I don’t want to do dinner with you.
I laugh. When I first met her, she never struck me as someone who overthinks shit. I honestly assumed she wasn’t even interested in being friends with me.
I’ve learned Harriet is tough, independent, and very, very considerate. The girl never slams doors, never leaves her toiletries out, never raises her voice at night.
She apologized to me for taking the last clean towel from the bathroom that Ben, Tom, and Eliot share. “I can stick it in the laundry.” She smelled the towel. “It’s not dirty if you want to reuse it—I mean, I’m not gross.” She cursed under her breath, then scowled so hard like she prepared for me to yell or call her names. “Sorry—”