Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Hey, Luke. What’s going on?” he asks after two rings.
“I kinda have a situation over here.”
“Again?” He sighs. “Dammit, Luke.”
“No. Stop. It’s not like that.”
“It never is.”
I sigh heavily and look at the ceiling. “I mean it.”
“You always do.”
Asshole. “Look, I’m calling you because—”
“Because Mallet won’t answer,” he says.
I start to protest, but that’s true. Mallet won’t answer. He blocked me after I sent him too many texts late at night because apparently training for a big professional fight is more important than humoring your little brother.
“And Chase might answer,” Gavin says, “but he’ll make you regret it.”
Can’t argue that one either.
“You could call Kate,” he says. But no one calls Kate with a situation unless you want it blown out of proportion and given the most expensive, over-the-top, time-consuming solution known to man. “Even you aren’t that desperate.”
I suck a breath between my teeth. “I don’t know. I might be.”
“Good. Call her, then.”
“Gavin, stop being a fuckhead. I need your help.”
He groans to ensure I don’t get comfortable calling him for help. Gavin is unequivocally my best friend, but the guy has weaknesses like everybody. He’s a great problem solver and is totally a people person. He just doesn’t like to be my problem solver or involve himself with my people issues.
Tough luck this time, sucker.
“I’m going to give you three guesses as to who is in my house right now,” I say, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
“Is this one of those things I’m supposed to get in three guesses, or are you just wasting my time?”
“I could give you fifty guesses, and you still won’t get it.”
“You’re wasting my time. Got it.”
I roll my eyes. “When people say you have three guesses, they don’t actually mean it. You realize that, right? It’s a rhetorical question.”
“That’s not what rhetorical means.”
“Uh, yes, it is. The question is being asked for effect, not for an answer.”
He snickers. “Okay, boy genius. Do you realize that the way you phrased it wasn’t a question? It’s a rhetorical statement, maybe. But it is not a rhetorical question because there’s no damn question.”
I groan, my irritation growing fast and wild.
“All right. I’m done. What’s going on this time? Who is in your bedroom?” he asks. “And if you say Alyssa after all the shit that went down—”
“It’s not Alyssa. I haven’t talked to Alyssa in six months.”
“Thank God. She’s a nice girl and whatever, but the two of you are just not supposed to be together, Luke. We’ve all tried to tell you. I know you’ve felt bad breaking things off with her in the past, but I hope for your sake that you mean it when you say you haven’t talked to her in six—”
“Laina Kelley is in my house.”
The words shoot from my mouth so abruptly, so powerfully, that I flinch.
“Stop playing with me, Luke, you prick. I have shit to do today.”
“I’m not kidding, Gav.”
“She got married today. Everyone in the world knows that. Even I’m not dense enough to believe that one. Now, do you have anything you actually want to say? Or can I go back to texting Tabitha a sob story that I’m making on the fly because I don’t want to bartend tonight, but I’m also incapable of telling her no?”
I work my neck back and forth. Somehow, sharing this with Gavin—even though he’s being a dick about it—relieves some of the energy bubbling in my stomach.
“Luke?”
“Have you checked the news in the last hour or so? I mean, I haven’t, but I imagine you won’t be able to turn on the television or go online without seeing a headline about Laina Kelley being a runaway bride.”
He pauses. The sound changes like he’s put me on speakerphone. Another few beats pass before he gasps. “You’re shitting me.”
“Believe it or not, this is one thing I wouldn’t joke about.”
“Okay, let me get this straight. Laina came all the way from Los Angeles with half of Hollywood in tow to get married to the biggest star of our generation. But she bails at the last minute and has gone missing in action, according to the media. And somehow, she winds up in your house?”
“You got it.”
He’s silent for a few moments, and I can picture him scrolling through his phone to check the headlines.
“Tell me you didn’t do anything to cause this,” he says warily. “Because a ton of shit is floating around online already with all kinds of speculation.”
“The fact you think I would break up a wedding is insulting. But, the fact that you think I’m capable of convincing Laina not to marry Tom Waverly …” I’m smug. “Very flattering. Thank you.”
The sound bobbles again. This time, the roar of his engine cuts through the line, then ceases before he returns.
“Just got home,” he says, a door screeching in the background. “Now, fill me in. What the hell is going on? Have you been talking to her? Have you seen her lately—besides now, obviously? How have you been able to keep this from me?”