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)
Concern and fury propel me out of the bus. My bare feet touch the asphalt of the emptied parking lot. Stars blanket the clear Texan sky, and dirt blows toward the fight—if it can be called that. Phoenix has Asher pinned against the side of the bus, his forearm tight across Asher’s neck. He clearly does not need my help.
I hack up a lung into my elbow.
“You okay, Tom?” Roy asks.
“Fuck you,” I cough, then massage my throat.
He exchanges a worried look with Gunther, and they start pleading their case about how Asher and Clint took it too far. They’ll talk to them. It won’t happen again. “Don’t do anything drastic, man,” Roy says.
I tune them out. “Phoenix!” I manage to yell.
He releases force off Asher’s throat, and Asher crumples into a heap near the tire. Then he shoves Clint’s chest so hard, he stumbles backward, his ass hitting the pavement.
“If you ever touch him again, I will have you bleeding on the fucking floor,” Phoenix seethes.
Is it inappropriate to smile?
Gunther pushes forward. “Phoen—”
“Don’t even,” Phoenix sneers, his glare furious and gutting. “You stood there, you motherfucker. So-the-fuck-what if he told you to get off the bus?! Then get off! It’s not your bus to fucking trash!!”
“Okay, okay.” Gunther gives a sheepish look to me and my drummer. “We won’t go on your bus again.”
Roy tries to corral Asher and Clint off the ground. “See you in the morning,” Roy says, “when we’re all sober and cooled off.”
“I am sober,” Phoenix growls.
I give them two middle fingers, backing up toward the bus. The second Phoenix whirls around to face me, the weight of his concern is an avalanche.
“Tom.” He steps toward me.
“Not here, dude.” It hurts to say it. He comes crashing to a halt inches from embracing me—there’s nothing more I want than his arms around me. “Those fuckfaces are still in eyeshot.”
“Get on the bus,” he says urgently, like he needs to touch me, and I don’t know…after everything with the Adderall, I just thought he’d shove me farther away.
Not want to bring me closer.
Once I’m on the bus, Hannah hands me a towel for my asphalt-pebbled feet. She is truly an angel. I towel off my dirty soles, then make my way down the aisle to the bathroom. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” I answer Stan and Delia when they question.
“Evening Glory?” she asks Phoenix.
“On the ground,” he responds.
“About time,” she says.
I stop by the bathroom. “I can clean that, Stan.” He’s mopping up grease on the fold-out table, probably a casualty of Gunther’s leftovers.
“I’ve got this,” he assures.
“Yeah, we’ll clean up here, Tom,” Hannah says.
Before I can protest, Phoenix yanks me into the cramped bathroom and shuts the door. He brings me into his body without hesitation. The hug is fortifying and doting and reassuring all at once. I wrap my arms tighter around him, and his hand is caring affection against my skull.
We’re bare-chested from our earlier performance. A layer of dried sweat coats our skin, and our hair isn’t even damp anymore. Amid everything, the thump of his heartbeat against mine is the best sound I’ve heard all night.
“Mon son préféré,” I whisper into his neck with an overwhelmed feeling. My favorite sound. He clasps my face, just to pull my head back and meet my eyes. He knows French. He knows choosing son is openly romantic while bruit is associated more with traffic noises, a disturbance. He called me his bruit préféré playfully, in an ironic sense.
I’m being overly passionate, and the vulnerability produces a wave of nerves. Those same nerves wash away when he frames my face and asks, “You’re okay?”
I nod a couple times, getting choked up. I try to produce a teasing smile. “You don’t want to put me on the ground too?”
He looks absolutely crushed. I just pulverized him.
“Bad joke,” I say fast.
“Really bad joke.” His voice cracks. He stares painfully at the ceiling, his eyes welling up, and then he pinches them. He’s crying.
“Phoenix.” I slide my hand against his waist. “Hey, I know you’d never put your hands on me like that,” I croak. “Not even because you promised me way back when. But because I know who you are.” My voice is still scratchy from being strangled. “Dude, if you weren’t here…”
“Don’t speak, Tom,” he says tearfully, rubbing his wet eyes with the heel of his palm. Then his hands are back on my face. His thumbs stroke my cheeks. “Don’t speak. Just listen to me.”
I nod, my chin trying to tremble.
“There is very little that would make me fall out of love with you,” he professes. “It’s going to take a lot more than several hours after an Adderall confession.”
Holy shit. I rub at my glassy eyes. “Tu m’aimes vraiment.” You really love me.
“No, I’ve really hated you this whole fucking time.” He shakes his head at me like come on.