Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Is it complicating things when you’re wearing my grandmother’s engagement ring?”
“As a cover up for you with your family.”
“Sure. It worked. I’m grateful. But three years ago, we had something. You know we did. Then, you went back to Robert. I didn’t begrudge you dating him again. Robert was … serious. He loved you desperately. I never would have come between you two, but then, after Fashion Week …”
She held her hand up. “Please, I don’t want to think about it. We had a great week. Can’t we just … figure it out after?”
I sighed. Of course she didn’t want to talk about it. Of course she was going to hole up at the first talk of something more than this. It was all fun and games until there was talk of more.
“We don’t have to talk about it today, but can we talk about it when we get home?”
Her big hazel eyes finally met mine, and I saw something I hadn’t expected there—fear. Normally, she was so reticent about all of this, but it was just her normal avoidance behavior. This was something else. This was actual terror in her expression, and I had no idea why she would ever look at me like that.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said at once. The expression cleared, and my Whitley was back. “Okay, fine, will you kiss me again and be the playful Gavin if I agree to have a real talk when we get home?”
I grinned devilishly, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the bed again. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do to you for that.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Whatever I want? Are you sure you can promise that?”
“I’m not afraid of your desires, Whit.”
Her cheeks heated at those words. I held up a pinkie, and she slipped hers into mine.
“Pinkie promise,” I told her.
She nodded once, and then I yanked her back onto the bed, kissing my way down her navel. If she wanted to forget what had happened in the past with sex, I could do that. But I was going to have to tell her the truth when we actually had that conversation. She needed to know that I was serious and that it wasn’t just sex with me either.
But not today.
Things would work themselves out when we got home.
In the meantime, I needed to keep my promise.
PART III
THINK PINK
15
WHITLEY
The first thing I did when I got home was squeeze in an appointment at the hair salon. I left Sunday afternoon with a fresh cotton-candy pink do that I adored. The blonde had been fun for the week, but I hadn’t negotiated hair color into my contract for nothing. I wanted to be fresh for Monday when I finally had that conversation with Gavin.
I was adding curls to the left side of my head and wondering how this conversation was going to go. Gavin’s grandmother’s ring was on a ring tray beside the sink. I’d slipped it off this morning. I couldn’t explain why I’d kept it on all day yesterday … even when I went to my hair appointment. My stylist had nearly had a fit.
I stared at it as I finished my hair. I bit my lip and reached for it. The thing literally fit like it had been made for me. I hadn’t known that wearing it for less than a week would make it mold to my finger. Now with it missing, the finger felt blank. I slid the ring back on my finger.
A knock sounded on my door.
I jumped. Fuck. Was Gavin already here with coffee? I wasn’t ready.
I threw off my night dress and hastily pulled on my work clothes. I was still jumping into my pants to get the damn button to close as I called out, “Coming!”
Straightening with a gasp, I wrenched the door open with a wide smile for Gavin. Only to freeze in place at the sight of my parents.
“Whitley! What did you do to your hair?” she asked with a look like she’d just sucked on a lemon.
“Mom?” I said in disbelief. I touched the pink strands of my hair.
My mom didn’t throw her arms around me or start crying happy tears. She just bustled inside my apartment, as if she’d been there a hundred times. When, in fact, she’d never visited me while I lived in New York. She’d only come to California once, lamented the sin of my relationship with Safia, and then left in a hurry. My brother, Wyatt, had come with his family and apologized a hundred times for Mom. His wife, Carrie, was slightly more progressive than our dinosaur parents. Their two kids—Wesley and Wynona—had both thought Safia was cooler than me, which was why they’d stayed, even as my mom had flown straight home.
“Dad?” I said next as he shot me a bemused look and shuffled in after his wife.