Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
She disappears into the bedroom.
“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got your order right, Mr. Faraday...” the voice on the phone says.
But I’m not listening. I can’t concentrate. Kat only left me to go into the next room and my heart’s suddenly yearning for her like she’s a thousand miles away.
“Is that correct?” the guy asks.
“Yes. Thanks,” I reply.
After I hang up the phone, I stand for a moment, looking around like a lost puppy, not sure what to do with myself. I’m physically aching for her and she’s only in the next fucking room. What’s happening to me? Who am I? I lived across the country from Emma for three fucking years and that was just fine by me. And now I can’t stand to be more than fifty feet away from Kat?
There’s a mirror hanging on the wall a few feet away, and I stare at my reflection for a moment, marveling that I still look like me on the outside, despite the fact that I’ve apparently turned into my pussy-whipped brother on the inside. That’s my Anthony Franco suit on my body. That’s my dark hair. And those are my blue eyes. Ah, but my eyes. They look slightly deranged, don’t they? They give me away. I’m definitely a man possessed—a man who’s head-over-heels in love with the perfect woman. Or, perhaps, more accurately, a sick fuck who’s head-over-heels in love with the perfect sick fuck. I smirk. Damn, I’m a lucky bastard.
I stride toward the bedroom, my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. It’s time. I’m gonna tell Kat I love her right now. It’s not perfect timing, I know—she’s not feeling well, plus our food’s on the way—and it’d probably be best for me to wait for a time when I can tell her while making love to her, slowly and gently. But fuck it. I can’t wait another minute to tell that woman how I feel about her.
I burst through the door of the bedroom, my heart bursting... and... Oh.
My heart wilts.
Kat’s fast asleep in the bed, a half-eaten package of Saltines lying in her opened palm.
I smile wistfully to myself.
Now there’s a woman I wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers.
I shake my head—oh, life—and head back into the main room.
“Yes, Mr. Faraday?” the front-desk guy asks when he picks up my call.
“I just ordered a bunch of food from room service and I need to change my order,” I say into the phone.
“Of course. One moment, please.” There’s a long pause while the call connects. “Yes, Mr. Faraday? How can I help you?”
“On that room service I just ordered, cancel everything except the melon and yogurt, plus add a couple cold turkey sandwiches and maybe five or six other cold-food items to choose from—stuff that’ll keep for hours. My girlfriend’s the one who wanted all that stuff I ordered earlier and now she’s fallen asleep. The new plan is for there to be a bunch of food ready for her whenever she wakes up.”
“Yes, sir. Not a problem.”
“And do me a favor, don’t knock when you bring the food. Enter the main room of the suite and load everything into the refrigerator behind the bar. We’ll be in the bedroom with the door closed. And please be extra quiet. My girlfriend’s pregnant and needs her rest—she hasn’t been feeling all that well.” Why is my heart racing like this? My entire body is buzzing and I don’t understand why.
“Yes, sir. We’ll be very quiet. Any requests on the food items for the new order?”
“Nope. Surprise me. Just give her lots of options. She eats like a truck driver these days. Go crazy.”
The guy laughs. “Yes, sir.”
“Thanks.”
I hang up the phone and lay my palm on my chest. My heart’s racing a mile a minute and I don’t understand why. All I did was order food for Kat—so why is my skin suddenly feeling electrified? I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Wow, I feel like I just ran a hundred-yard dash. Why is my heart thumping like this?
I grab a cold water bottle from the refrigerator behind the bar, creep into the bedroom, and close the door behind me. Gently, I lift the package of Saltines out of Kat’s open palm and place the crackers on the nightstand along with the bottle of water—and then I stand over Kat’s sleeping body, transfixed by her beautiful face.
I’ve never felt the way I do, standing here right now. Not once in my whole goddamned life. Something new is coursing through my veins—something that wasn’t there when I first knocked on the door to the suite tonight. What Kat did for me tonight—and how she so obviously got turned on doing it—was the final piece of a puzzle I didn’t even know I was trying to solve. Kat didn’t just participate in tonight’s depraved little fuck-fest, and she didn’t need to be coaxed into doing it with me, either—she arranged it and then begged me to keep going when I tried to throw on the brakes midway through—proving once and for all she’s an even bigger sick fuck than I am.