Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
He glances back, before drumming his fingers on the table. “Honestly… I have no idea.”
“Preach does a good job at keeping them away.” I look towards Preach. His back is to us, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he keeps an eye on the door. Beside him is another security guard with brown skin, a bald head, and sunglasses on. I don’t know his name yet.
I see a camera flash from a distance and frown when I spot a man with a black camera.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
Drake looks up at me. I assume he’s accustomed to the stolen photos and flashes, but I’m not. I frown at the cameraman and he snaps another picture.
Drake notices my annoyance and looks at the man with a scowl. He calls for Preach, flicking his fingers.
When Preach meets at the table, Drake says, “Go take care of that fucking cameraman, will you?”
Preach nods his head and then walks towards the exit. When he’s outside, he walks up to the cameraman, saying something to him. The cameraman holds his hands up innocently, walking backwards.
When the cameraman has disappeared, Preach turns around and gets through the raving Doomsday fans.
“Fucking paparazzi,” Drake hisses.
“That’s what that was? Wow.” I don’t know why I’m surprised. I mean, I know he’s famous, but geez. This is surreal. I guess I just never imagined Drake as a big shot fighter—not that he could never achieve it, just that I didn’t imagine it was what he wanted for himself.
It’s just that Drake was always “just Drake” to me—not Doomsday or whatever else they like to call him.
Our food arrives moments later, and I don’t know what it is, but I can’t eat. Perhaps it’s because I know everyone is watching, and now some of the girls are grimacing as they run their eyes up and down the length of me.
They’re looking at me like I’m the ugliest thing on the face of the earth.
“How can you eat?” I whisper across the table.
Drake shrugs, cutting into his steak. “Used to it.”
“They’re staring so hard at me.” I side-eye the door and he looks with me.
“Want me to tell them to go away?” He drops his fork and starts to stand up but I rapidly shake my head, grabbing his hand. “No—Drake, no. That would cause a scene, put you in the tabloids or something.” He sits back down. “It won’t do anything for your reputation.”
He releases a bitter laugh, sitting again. “Does it look like I give a shit about my reputation? I beat fuckers up for a living. If that isn’t bad enough, I don’t know what is.”
“But you love what you do, right? Fighting?”
“Only thing I’m truly good at.”
“That’s not true,” I state as he eats a piece of the steak. “You are good at a lot. You forget I know how smart you are. Don’t doubt yourself.”
His green eyes flash up to meet mine. We hold gazes and he lowers his fork, preventing the next bite. “You still hold high value in me, huh?”
“You’ve always been better than you made yourself out to be. You may be Doomsday to those people, but here, in this moment—as you face me—you are Drake Davenport and that is the only you I know.”
He watches me with a smoldering gaze. He looks me over in the outfit I changed into—a plain coral maxi skirt and white belly shirt.
“If you believe that, then you should know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you… or let you go again.”
“Drake,” I sigh. “You’ll have to let go eventually. We can’t stay in Vegas forever.”
“We don’t have to stay in Vegas. You can come with me wherever I go. I’ll take care of you and you know it. Way better than that piece of shit you came here with does.” His jaw ticks and he focuses on his half-eaten steak.
My eyes drop, and I run my hands over my skirt. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“And why wouldn’t it?”
“Because…I don’t know if I’m ready trust you or not.”
“What, you think I’m going to abandon you? What would be my reason this time? I have absolutely nothing to hold me back. I’m not secretly married or engaged or any of that shit. I’m definitely not tied to anyone—in fact I haven’t taken a woman seriously since the day I left Fox River…since the day I foolishly left you behind.”
I blink rapidly, stunned. Well, all of those questions I had earlier have now been answered. All in one blatant response.
I don’t even know what to say. For the briefest of moments, I am left speechless.
After several seconds have ticked by, I decide to speak again. “How many?”
“How many what?”
“Women have you slept with since we parted ways?”
He scratches the top of his head before drumming his fingers again. “Seven.”