Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“Are you at the hospital?” Josh writes.
“Yeah, I’m in Sarah’s room now,” I reply. “The doc says Sarah lost a ton of blood and she’s definitely in a lot of pain, but she’s gonna be okay, thank God. She’ll probably go home tomorrow. She got really lucky. The blade didn’t hit anything critical.”
“SO AWESOME. Huge relief. OMG. Is my brother there? He hasn’t answered any of my texts or calls. I’m worried.”
I look across the room at Jonas again. His face is twitching in his sleep like he’s having a nightmare. Just as I’m about to look away from him, his entire body jolts like someone just leaped out from behind a bush and yelled “Boo!” Aw, poor guy. He’s actually kind of breaking my heart right now.
“Yeah, he’s here,” I write. “He’s asleep.”
“When he wakes up, could you tell him I couldn’t get to Seattle tonight? All flights are grounded due to weather.”
As if on cue, thunder crashes outside the hospital window. “Yeah, if he wakes up while I’m still here, I’ll be sure to tell him,” I write.
“Thanks.”
There’s a long beat. Is that the end of our text-conversation? I drop my phone in my lap and stare at Sarah for another long moment, listening to the driving rain outside the window, my thoughts drifting to the thousands of times Sarah’s been the best friend a girl could ever hope for.
I’ve just decided something. I’m done being Classic Kat. From this day forward, I’m New Kat—a responsible and levelheaded girl. A girl like Sarah. Smart. Careful. A look-before-leaping kind of girl, especially when it comes to men. New Kat takes things slow. New Kat has her head on straight. New Kat doesn’t just jump into the sack or throw her heart away willy-nilly. New Kat isn’t tempestuous and crazy. Nope. She’s just like Sarah. Well, pre-Jonas Sarah, that is. I don’t know what the heck’s happened to Sarah since she met Jonas—nowadays, she’s acting like me. But that’s beside the point.
My phone buzzes with another text. “How are you holding up, Party Girl?” Josh asks.
I take a deep breath and tap out an honest answer to the question, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Not good. The Party Girl doesn’t feel at all like partying right now.”
“I know what you mean. The Playboy doesn’t feel at all like playing right now, either.” He adds a sad face to the end of his message.
Well, as long as I’m being honest, I might as well go all in. “I’ve never cried so many tears in all my life, Josh,” I write. And, of course, the act of writing that message makes me cry even harder. “This is the worst day of my life.”
I’ve no sooner pressed send on that message than my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Josh.
I bolt out of my chair and into the hallway to answer. “Hi,” I say softly into my phone, my cheeks suddenly hot. I don’t like crying in front of men, even over the telephone. It always ignites their superhero instincts—and I’m not a girl who needs to be saved.
“When I get there,” Josh says softly, his voice low and masculine, “you can cry on my shoulder all you like, Party Girl.”
There’s a long pause. I’m having a physical reaction to that statement, not to mention the masculine tone of his voice.
“Thanks,” I finally say. “I’d like that.”
There’s another long pause. “So how’s that bodyguard working out for you?” he finally asks. “Do you like him?”
“Do I like him?” I repeat, my pulse suddenly pounding in my ears. Does he suspect I was trying to get into my bodyguard’s pants when he called earlier today?
Josh exhales. “I mean does he make you feel safe? Is he doing a good job of protecting you?”
“Oh.” I exhale. “Well, actually,” I say, “I’ve got two bodyguards—one for day, one for night. The nighttime guy is here at the hospital now—in the waiting room. I feel pretty safe with him. But I’m gonna ask for a replacement for the daytime guy.”
“You don’t feel safe with the daytime guy?”
“No.”
“Why not?” There’s a strange edge to his voice. He inhales sharply. “Did he make a pass at you, Kat?”
Holy Jealous Boyfriend, Batman—except, of course, that Josh Faraday isn’t my boyfriend. We’ve never even been on a flippin’ date.
“Shit,” Josh breathes before I can reply to his initial question. “What’s the bastard’s name?”
“Josh,” I manage to say. “No, he didn’t make a pass at me.” I think that’s technically true—I’m the one who made a pass at Derek. “But if he had,” I continue, “it wouldn’t be any of your business.” I let that sink in for a minute. “Derek just didn’t take things seriously enough for my taste, that’s all,” I say evenly.
“Derek, huh?” Josh says, his voice edged with testosterone.