Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Tate smirked and cuddled deeper into Kingsley’s embrace. “That’ll be hot.”
“The tatted-up primal boys—no doubt,” Reese said. He nudged Ty. “Hopefully down in Florida, eh?”
“Absolutely. Back to the island.” Ty and Reese bumped their fists.
I scrunched my nose.
This was such a dick show.
Sufficiently tipsified, I leaned on the armrest and spoke for only Penelope to hear. “So I get the love you have for these guys—you’re basically family—but does it ever get to be too much?”
She’d had a few drinks too, so maybe that was why she chuckled and casually leaned toward me as well. “Both yes and no. No, because I love watching them interact. Fuck soap operas—I’d rather catch an episode of this never-ending battle of the wits. And yes, because obviously, I alienate myself when many of the private events are catered to men. But…” She trailed off and emptied her wineglass. Then she released a breath and smiled a little hollowly. “For the longest time, it wasn’t an issue because I had Ella. Now I’m supposed to start over? I don’t know how to do that.”
Okay, I drank more. I freaking guzzled that cider like my life depended on it.
If I was going to listen to Penelope confess that she missed her ex, I needed every drop of alcohol.
“This is why I’ve decided to stay away from relationships,” she went on. “I will happily play and host demos and turn into a for-the-night Domme. It’s what I’m good for. One night. No more decade-long ordeals that end in heartbreak and self-doubt and…fuck it.” She reached for a bottle of gin on the cart and poured some straight into her empty wineglass. “Let this be a teaching moment, Nora. You’re not yourself in a relationship. You don’t know what you’re doing. I have no idea what I’m doing—even now. I just know…” She took a swig of the gin and made a face.
A breath gusted out of me, and I felt a little drunk and defeated and, honestly, defiant. Because I didn’t agree with her.
“I just know,” she repeated, “that I woke up one morning a few weeks ago, doubting every aspect of our relationship. The last few years, at least. Like, had we been happy or just…I don’t know, settled? For instance, when I look at some of my friends—take Lucas and Colt. They’ve been together for almost as long as Ella and I were, and they’re so happy. Even Tate and Kingsley, Macklin and Walker, who’ve all lived through breakups—but they reunited because they just couldn’t fall out of love with each other.”
I eyed her warily, and she looked at her friends before turning back to me.
Her hazel-green eyes burned with something so intense that it seared through the tipsy cloud.
“Ash is devastated without Nathan,” she murmured. “They broke up a little over a year ago, and he still can’t live without him. Ella and I were never like that. It’s been…” She squinted and actually counted on her fingers. “Almost four months now…? And I don’t even miss her. I don’t love her anymore.”
I swallowed hard and felt a rush of heat press itself to the surface, bleeding onto my cheeks.
She didn’t miss Ella. She didn’t love her anymore.
“And if it weren’t for her betrayal, we would’ve still been here,” she said. “Living together in okayness.” She shook her head and looked down into her glass. “We barely even fought. Growing up, I always heard—my mom, she called me her little hothead, and she said it was a good thing. ‘It’s better to love and fight wildly than live on autopilot,’ she said. And I think autopilot is exactly what I’ve been living on. Which…I’m now rambling about to a girl I just met.”
I cracked a smile and dared to give her hand a brief squeeze.
“I’m an awesome listener, so it’s okay,” I said. “Besides, I’ve been known as somewhat of a hothead myself, and I can only imagine what you’re going through. I’d probably doubt myself too—and wonder what I actually want.”
She hummed and planted her elbow on the armrest, bringing us a little closer together. “What makes you a hothead?”
I smirked. “Depends who you ask. My big brother will say it’s because I screamed like a banshee every time he was a pain in my ass when we grew up. Exes might say I’m impossible to deal with since I don’t compromise on core beliefs and kinks, and I get pretty heated about it. My dad—”
She perked up. “But you shouldn’t compromise on core shit. Do you have an example?”
I nodded. “My first girlfriend in BDSM. I need pain in my life, and I was willing to compromise on how I receive it—like, nonsexually from another Top, with my Domme watching or something. But she was uncomfortable with that, and she not-so-discreetly hinted that people have to compromise in relationships. It’s unrealistic to expect a partner to cover every need—”