Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
I’ve come up with a thousand different theories, but the one I always come back to is he ran because he was scared of something or someone. He always walked a fine line, so he probably got himself involved with shady people.
Which makes me wonder if he’s out there watching this unfold. A familiar unease shivers through me. Because sometimes it feels like someone is watching me. I know it sounds crazy. It’s probably paranoia brought on by the fact that my ex has vanished without a trace, and no one has seen him in almost five weeks.
“And what about Mr. New York?” Elsa asks with a mischievous gleam in her eye.
She’s the only person I confided in about Lev.
“He was history the night I met him.”
“You mean the night you climbed off his cock and crept out of his apartment before he woke up,” Elsa reminds me.
I cringe at the memory. I know I did the right thing, but a part of me wonders what would’ve happened if I had stayed.
“I didn’t want the awkwardness of the next morning. He was a one-night stand. The perfect elixir for a fucked up situation. Nothing more.”
Although, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about him a lot since that night, about what we did, about the way he kissed me, about the way he made my body burn and my eyes roll into the back of my head when he gave me one orgasm after another. Every time I think about it, my body thrums and tightens with a need for more until I have no choice but to make myself come just to get some relief.
“It’s a pity you didn’t get his last name though. I’d google him just so I could see the man who gave my best friend a thousand orgasms.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t. Because without it, he gets left right where I left him… in the past.”
Maybe one day I’ll forget him. Just not today.
Because Lev isn’t easy to forget.
Although, remembering him is remembering how he used my last name, and a tingly unease crawls into my chest every time, because I’m absolutely certain I never told him. I suppose there’s a chance he saw my passport or something with my name on it. Although, I’m not sure when or how.
And I don’t know how I feel about that.
13
BROOKE
Thump.
My eyes ping open. Was that a noise coming from inside the apartment, or was it a dream?
My spine tingles with panic as I strain to hear in the darkness. I don’t know what it was, but something disturbed me from my dream. Maybe it was something outside in the street below?
Thump.
Nope, whatever it is, it’s definitely coming from inside the apartment.
Thump. Thump.
I bolt upright and slide out of bed, reaching for the baseball bat I keep beside the nightstand, and creep toward the bedroom door. I always keep it open, but it’s only slightly ajar, and the realization sends a zip down my spine.
Whoever is inside the apartment had closed it.
Whoever is inside the apartment had closed it while I was sleeping and oblivious in my bed mere feet away.
Shaking, I inch through the doorway and creep along the small hallway. There is a light coming from the living room. Someone has turned on the lamp I left out last night.
Thump.
Whoever it is, they’re the loudest thief known to man. Like they’re not even trying to be undetected.
Sucking in a deep breath, I summon all my bravery and launch around the corner with a loud scream.
In the living room, Wilson almost keels over with a heart attack.
“Fuck, Brooke. Are you trying to kill me?”
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him.
“Wilson..?” His name falls from my lips in an incredulous whisper.
After weeks of no news, I wake up to find him in my apartment, rummaging through my packed boxes like he still lives here. He’s unpacked other boxes, too, and some of my belongings are scattered in a pile beside them.
He looks different. Disheveled and desperate. He hasn’t shaved for what looks like weeks, and he’s lost weight.
He turns away from me as if showing up in the middle of the night after leaving me at the altar four weeks ago and disappearing into nowhere is no big deal, and continues to rummage through the boxes.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand, storming over to him. “Get your hands off my stuff.”
I reach for his arm, but he flings me off. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?”
“The ring. I need it.”
“What ring?”
The only ring I can think of is the engagement ring he gave me and surely—oh, the little rat.
“You are not getting your hands on my ring.”
But he ignores me and keeps rummaging through my belongings.
“Are you deaf? I said you’re not getting the ring back. I paid for half of it, remember?”