Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Maybe I’d held on too tight. Maybe I’d been too fabulous when I should have toned it down. In my quest to be out and proud and authentic, maybe I’d forgotten how to compromise.
Nah, fuck that. I’d tried and it hadn’t worked…that was all.
I stared at the empty chair where Pierce had sat across from me last night, his eyes alight with humor and mischief. He wore celebrity like a second skin, sharing stories about his upbringing, shrugging off his family’s abandonment as though he accepted that some things were meant to be lost.
That wasn’t me.
I wallowed and grappled and raged. I turned myself inside out and came up empty every time. I didn’t want to do that anymore.
What was gone was gone, and I was really truly ready to move on.
With Pierce?
Don’t be ridiculous. He wasn’t going to call again. But if he did, I’d definitely answer. Something told me I could use a meaningless, sexy diversion with no strings attached and he’d be perfect. I’d never fall for him.
A man who belonged to the entire planet could never belong to me. And the next time around, my bar was going to be set a lot higher.
Pierce
“How did your asshole brother get your fucking phone number?” Seb tapped his iPad and leaned his elbows on his kitchen island. “Once again, I smell trouble.”
I plucked at my T-shirt and sniffed, which earned me a small chuckle from Seb’s sixteen-year-old son, Oliver. I took that as a major win. Teenagers were a notoriously tough audience. Not Oliver.
Oliver was tall, lean, and lanky with dark-blond hair and a mild-mannered personality. He was an aspiring filmmaker in his own right. He’d done a series of Claymation shorts and was currently working on an animated short for his film studies class—a hero’s story about a surfer who befriends a penguin…maybe?
Oliver’s explanations could get kind of technical, but I tried to pay attention. I’d known him since he was five or six, and I’d always liked him. The kid grew up with a respected screenwriter mom and a famous producer dad whose best friend was a Grammy-award-winning songwriter who in turn was married to a huge rock star. And Oliver’s half-brother, Charlie, was a force of nature too.
He was born into insane privilege and could have been a total brat, but he was the most level-headed young person I’d ever met. He was as easygoing as Trent, and neither of them thought twice about me stopping by for breakfast on a Friday morning before 7 a.m.
Oliver cracked eggs into pancake batter and picked up a spoon.
“Language, Dad,” he scolded, turning from the stove on the opposite end of the kitchen. “Who wants blueberries in their pancakes?”
I raised my hand. “Me.”
“Me too.” Trent shook a container of orange juice from the open fridge. “OJ, anyone?”
“No, thanks,” I said.
“Only if I can have vodka in mine,” Seb grumbled, examining the photos the studio had published of Mr. Gowan and me. “I suppose it was inevitable that someone would find a way to capitalize on a puff-piece story. Of course it had to be your brother.”
“My asshole brother,” I corrected.
“He said ‘asshole,’ ” Seb griped, pointing at me. “Aren’t you going to yell at him?”
Oliver grinned. “No, his brother really is an asshole. Sorry, Pierce.”
I raised my empty coffee in a mock toast. “No apology necessary.”
“Is the old guy still in the hospital?” Trent asked, pulling out the barstool next to his husband’s.
He set his glass of orange juice down and hooked one arm over Seb’s shoulders, rubbing his back soothingly as if he sensed exactly what his man needed.
Damn it, I was going to choke on happy family vibes before I finished my first pancake.
“Janet checked this morning. They’re keeping him for observation,” Seb replied, shifting to face me. “You know, that picture of you and the firefighters put a new spin on what was supposed to be a one-time-only photo op.”
I stood and helped myself to a second cup of coffee. “What was I supposed to do? Sprint out of the house?”
“Of course not. But you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. You went off script,” he pronounced. “Again. This shouldn’t be a hard one to spin, but I’m a little lost. Who is the cutie standing off to the side? Does he work for us?”
“Let me see.” Trent motioned for Seb to show him his iPad, then hummed in appreciation. “Damn, he’s cute. What’s his name?”
“Lorenzo.” I sipped my coffee and frowned, noting the immediate two-way stare. “What?”
“Nothing, but…” Trent leaned across Seb and squinted, sending his sleep-mussed dark hair into his eyes. “Yep. You’re blushing.”
“Fuck off.” I snorted.
“Language, right, Ol?” Seb tattled, bumping my knee. “What’s the story?”
“Lorenzo is a friend of Jasper Gowan’s. That’s it.”
Oliver set a plate of pancakes on the island along with syrup and a stack of napkins. “Yep, he’s totally blushing. I have to brush my teeth. Who’s taking me to school?”