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)
In an instant, he jerked away, fingers unraveling. “Well, if it’s affection you’re seeking, you’ve got the wrong motherfucker, Jenny. I can’t help you with that. We were friends in a way, yes. We kept each other company on the playground but shit has changed. We’re older now. You see that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I see it,” I retorted.
“Yet you pretend to be blind to what I really am.”
“I’m not blind to it. I know what you do,” I murmured. “And it’s not all that you are.”
Drake folded his arms, examining all of me. His intense green eyes ran up and down my length, roaming my long legs and then my pink wedges.
“You know what I do?” His voice was bland, more like a statement.
“Yes.”
“And what’s that?”
“Fight,” I breathed.
He straightened his spine a bit, as if he was uncomfortable with me knowing what he really did in the dark. “Exactly,” he murmured. “You know what I do. You know what I’m capable of. I am a totally different person when I fight, so why would you want to be around that?”
“I don’t mind a fighter,” I replied. “I’m a fighter myself.”
“You’re a pushover,” he corrected.
“To a certain extent,” I modified. “Plus, maybe it’s a good thing I can’t fully fight for myself. That would be what I have you for. Right?” I grinned like a fool, like he was really going to fall for that shitty line.
I thought he would, that is until his face fixed and turned serious. He stood up casually, almost too fluidly to seem real, and then he walked for his half-empty tray sitting on the table.
Picking it up, he started down the hallway without saying anything. Realizing he’d left our conversation open ended, I went after him, circling his large body and pressing my hand to his chest before he could make it to the kitchen.
“Drake.” My voice came out ragged. “Can you just… trust me? I won’t spill your secrets. I’ve never told anyone anything you’ve told me. I would never do that. You could trust me then… why can’t you now?”
“Back then it was different,” he said, avoiding my eyes. He was lucky he had a few inches on me. I couldn’t catch his eyes and it frustrated me that he was trying so desperately hard to avoid me, so I gripped his chin between my fingers, forcing him to look at me.
Alarmed by my grasp, his nostrils flared but when his eyes bolted with mine, something settled within those cold, beautiful green irises. Some sort of tranquility; something swift and sweet, easing the chaos.
We watched each other.
Our gazes held for quite some time. My hand fell, but I never looked away, not even as I heard Otto goofing off in the kitchen. Not even as I heard Oscar shouting at him to knock it off.
Not even as the round of applause from the banquet room filled my eardrums, a deep voice talking into the microphone, concluding the brunch.
Drake’s breath ran tattered through his lips, his chest poked out, his free hand balled into a fist. He wasn’t used to a touch so gentle. He wasn’t accustomed to this kind of proximity unless it resulted in fist throwing and bloodshed.
He didn’t want to hurt me, I could tell. That’s why I stood there. That’s why I watched him. That’s why I wasn’t afraid.
Distress flooded his eyes.
He was too defensive, wanting to destroy himself, but I could tell something was keeping him going. What was it? It wasn’t his mom, because he’d told me she died when we were younger.
So who?
Someone was keeping his head leveled. There was a reason Drake hadn’t been tossed in jail yet. I knew it wasn’t his Dad. That man looked too sinister to be any good.
Oscar and Otto maybe? No. They seemed to be the ones that looked up to him, then again that gave good cause for Drake to keep his head on straight.
But I knew it wasn’t them either. They could take care of themselves.
The banquet doors flew open and a flood of people in expensive clothing, diamonds, pearls—carrying copies of books I knew they wouldn’t read—walked out of the banquet room.
Drake finally pulled his eyes away, focusing on the glossy marble floor.
“Drake,” I whispered.
He refused to look at me. He hated what he felt, the same thing I felt.
Warmth. Solace.
I spotted a sheet of scrap paper on his tray, a pen in the pocket on his vest. I grabbed the paper, snatched out his pen, and jotted my number down.
“Anytime you want to talk, feel free to reach me at this number.” I tucked the paper into his front pocket, and he stiffened.
And I knew why. I was close… close to him. A private part of him. I felt my hand brush against his length, not on purpose of course but if I hadn’t had a killer headache a blush would’ve crept from my neck to my cheeks.