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)
Eliot washes tofu juice off his hands. “Feel better?” he asks seriously.
“Not really.”
“You should slander all his future pets and progeny. Go all the way for ultimate catharsis.” He nods to the phone.
I grip the counter, unable to pick it back up. My heart won’t stop racing. “Now I’m thinking I might’ve sounded a little harsh. Childish?”
“No, you’re releasing your emotions. This is good for you.” He cuts off the water using the faucet’s sensor. “As long as you don’t send it to him.”
I slow-blink. “Dude. I already sent it.” Phoenix could’ve listened to my rant by now. He doesn’t keep his read receipts on, so I can’t tell. I take a breath. “Is it that bad, though? I mean, it’s how I feel.”
“Vrai,” he says true in French. “He deserves to hear your internal thoughts.”
“Exactly. Yeah, he needs to hear them.” I’m trying to spin this in a positive direction, but I’m cringing at myself. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes in a long groan. Why do I feel like I’m screwing up at every turn? “Why do I still feel like shit?”
“Might be the hangover.” He dries his hands on a dark-blue dishtowel.
I squint up at the bright kitchen lights. “My eyes do scratch like sandpaper.”
“I’ll get you some eyedrops.” He puts a comforting palm on my shoulder as he passes. Two seconds after Eliot disappears down the hall, an aggressive knock pounds the door.
Holy shit, no.
It can’t be him.
There are about a thousand other possibilities. Maybe Harriet lost her key. Yeah, yeah. That’s it. I’m settled on seeing the five-foot-one blonde demon when I swing open the door to meet the brown-blue eyes of not Harriet.
Definitely not Harriet.
Phoenix taps his foot, readjusts his backpack, and shifts his helmet to his other hand in a wave of impatience that crashes into me. When our eyes meet, the shared breath we take feels more asphyxiating than life-giving. Our partnership shouldn’t alter into a different shape—not when it’s been so effective—but in this second, I sense the deep change.
“You letting me in?” Phoenix asks.
The lack of “nepo baby” makes me uneasy. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Like five seconds.”
“I’ve been waiting over an hour, dude.” It suddenly occurs to me he could’ve wrecked his Suzuki. My heart palpitates. “Are you okay?” I sweep him for any cuts or bruises. He’s already unzipped his motorcycle jacket. The plain black shirt underneath melds to his abs. I can’t see any visible rips in the fabric. His gray cargo pants aren’t scuffed with dirt or asphalt, and his boots are laced to his ankles.
He frowns at me. “I’m fine. I just got held up in traffic.” Off my next silent beat, he adds, “It’s morning rush hour. Ever been in it? Lots of honking. Slamming on brakes. Right outside your million-dollar apartment.”
“Multimillion,” I correct.
His narrowed eyes perform a partial roll. I open my mouth, then close it even faster, not wanting to sound whiny. I’m verbally and physically stalling out.
Phoenix presses a hand against the doorframe, his tense body inches from mine. “Let me in,” he says, deep and husky. His gaze drives so far into me that I know he’s not just referring to letting him inside my apartment.
I think he can tell I’m ankle-deep in a quicksand of anxieties.
“I get you were in traffic. But why haven’t you responded to any of my texts?” I ask him. “A simple, I’m on my way, Tom, would’ve worked fine. Unless you were purposefully being an ass.” I could blame this on him, but I need to take responsibility for what happened. “Because maybe I said or did something irreparable—”
“You didn’t,” he interjects. His frown darkens, and he shoves a hand into his cargo pocket. He presses his thumb against the black screen of his phone and tries to turn it on.
His phone is dead.
His phone is dead.
Why the fuck didn’t I think about that?! Of course, that was one of the hundreds of possibilities, but it never occurred to me because it’s too simple. Too easy. Why do I jump to the most dramatic conclusion?
Phoenix blows out a hard breath. “Can you at least be happy I wasn’t screening your calls? Why do you still look like I’m about to piss on your doormat?”
“I’m horrified at myself. Not at you, dude.” I swing open the door wider and let him into the apartment. I rummage in a kitchen drawer, then hand Phoenix a charging cable.
He’s only focused on me when he takes it. “What’d you do that’s so horrific?”
“Don’t listen to the voice memo I sent—or better yet, I’ll delete it from my end.” I snatch my phone off the counter.
“Just play it,” Phoenix nods me on.
“You want to hear me cursing you out a billion times? Oh, I even curse out your dog.”