Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
What am I going to do with these two? I wish I could just put this problem on pause and handle the rest.
I hurried my pace. “Hey, guys.”
They both paused and let me catch up to them. Vivian wore short blue shorts with a matching top. Her vanilla skin still had a bright effect, even though darkness probably moved inside of her. Blonde strands draped her shoulders and fell down past her hips. Troy took up the rest of the passageway with muscles flexing under caramel skin. His hazel eyes usually glimmered as if full of magic; tonight they radiated stress. He rubbed his newly shaved head and offered me a weak smile.
“Thanks for waiting.” I got in between them enough to not ram us all into the walls, but so that they could hold on to me versus trying to desperately contain their urge to hold on to each other.
Vivian seized my hand and squeezed it. We’d known each other for too long. There was no need to tell her how scared her attempt at suicide had made me. She had to see the hurt and confusion in my eyes. I tightened my grip on her, and she nodded and looked away. Patting my shoulder, Troy couldn’t bring his large frame to my side in the small passageway and stayed behind us as we made it into the front compartment of the plane.
The walls vibrated on our sides. My ears popped with air pressure and then resumed to normalcy only to experience that strange plane-riding effect again.
In front of me, an endearing fragrance called to my stomach and dishes clinked up ahead. I inhaled that delicious perfume and picked up my step. A smart person could admit that I had a lot to battle with in these upcoming days—someone wanted me dead, Chase craved more from me than I was sure I could give, and Troy and Vivian were having too much difficulty picking themselves up after being knocked down by a major blow. But anyone who knew me best understood my favorite motto—food can solve it all.
Let’s test this theory out today.
Seconds later I sat at the table in the area where Chase held emergency conference meetings.
Dear God. Chase won’t be getting any, but I may be introducing Chef Dubois to the Mile-High Club.
The most exquisite food decorated with glamour. The essence of fine cuisine lay before my eyes—a square cut of meat, maybe lamb, so crisp it sparkled and sizzled. Thin slices of savory fois gras stacked on top of creamy mounds of truffle risotto. Plump cherry tomatoes rested on figs, greens, and gorgonzola. A top bottle of wine sat uncorked, reeking of a sensual aroma that made me stir in my seat.
It was going to be a perfect meal. I could die after this one, just lay my fat belly down and smile as life ended.
Yet no one touched the food.
Chase sipped his wine, stole worried glances at my injured arm, and tapped his fingers over and over on the table.
Troy did his best to never look Vivian’s way.
And she, my newly discovered sister, watched her plate with an expression that thickened the space around me with gloom. Her hospital bracelet was still on her wrist. Usually, Vivian bopped around barefoot and free like a typical hippy blonde. Art was her passion, marijuana and running her hobbies. Since Vivian had discovered that the love of her life was her brother, my old friend had withered away. This new Vivian sat quiet most nights and wept in her room on the others.
She caught me watching her and frowned. “Are we going to deal with the elephant in the room?”
“Which one?” Troy poured himself a glass of wine.
“I say we let the elephants rest for this trip.” Chase circled his risotto with his fork. “By the way, how is your food, Jasmine?”
“I haven’t tried anything yet.”
Vivian continued to stare at me. “Where are we going?”
“Apparently, this is a trip to Italy.” I turned to glare at Chase.
“What?” Troy exchanged glances with me. “Why are you giving him that signature Jasmine pinched look?”
“I don’t have a signature look.”
“Yes, you do. You pull up the tip of your nose like that.” He pointed at my nose as if I could see it with no problem. “It’s like you smelled something bad and then you squint your little eyes like someone cares if you’re in a bad mood.”
“I have no look.”
Troy sucked his teeth and turned to Chase. “What’s up with Jazz?”
“Apparently, I’m in trouble.” Chase sipped his wine.
I twisted to Troy. “Were you aware that I’m on here without giving Chase my permission to leave the country?”
Wrinkles formed in the middle of Troy’s head. “Yes. I was aware. You think I would let him take you out of the hospital if I didn’t know that? And don’t start throwing that signature look at me. I helped him so you wouldn’t get shot again.”