Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
It’s starting to give me the creeps for real whenever he has those, as small as they are.
Jeremy watches me for a beat, arms crossed and brow furrowed. “You’re okay with that?”
“With what?”
“Being in the closet with him. You already came out, so you’re under no obligation to be shoved in the dark with him.”
“He’ll come out one day.”
“And you’re happy to wait? As long as it takes?”
“If it’s him, yeah. I guess.”
“Okay.” He clutches my shoulders. “I just want you to know that you deserve to be loved in the light, Niko. Just like everyone else.”
“Pfft. He doesn’t love me.”
“I don’t like this guy.” Jeremy narrows his eyes. “You’re being exclusive for the first time in your life and keeping it a secret for his sake and he doesn’t love you? What is he? An idiot?”
“Hey, don’t call him that.”
“You’re defending him? Wow. Where’s my brutish friend Niko and what have you done to him?”
“I’m a changed man, Jer.” I grin. “Gotta go. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Do you have to go? I thought we were discussing how to bring Landon down after everything he’s done.”
I wince. So I might have been the one who delayed the Heathens' plans to take vengeance against Landon King. I have to do it, and I will, because he’s a motherfucker, but I can’t help thinking about Bran’s reaction.
All this time, I’d hoped they were enemies, and while they don’t hang out much, they text each other all the fucking time.
Or more like Landon checks on Bran in a neurotic fashion, and my lotus flower gets this little smile on his lips whenever he reads his asshole brother’s texts.
He said they’re different but they’re twins and that’s a bond for life.
I suppose he wouldn’t appreciate me punching his brother into an early grave, even if he deserves it.
“Just plan it out and let me know,” I tell Jer. “I have more important shit to do.”
“Baby, I’m home!”
Did that sound so domesticated?
Well, I do think of the penthouse as home now, which is weird. Bran also texted ‘I’ll see you at home’ earlier today, so at least I’m not the only one thinking it.
I remove my T-shirt and toss it on the floor, then, thinking about the asshole’s nagging, I pick it up and dunk it on the chair. Not ideal, but it’s a compromise.
My brow furrows when I don’t find him in the kitchen busy being a Mary Sue. He’s so anal about the meals he makes. Bran is the type of cook who’ll go out at ungodly hours just to have his perfect ingredients.
He’s an excellent cook. I just wish he’d cut himself some slack.
And not only about cooking, but also lacrosse, his gazillion charitable activities, and painting. He’s meticulous about everything, and he’s so ridiculously hard on himself, it’s starting to raise red flags. No one should be that perfect and think they’re not. Literally no one.
Sometimes, I doubt that he even likes his body, because he’s so quick about putting on clothes the moment we’re not fucking. It’s as if he doesn’t like looking at those gorgeous, perfectly toned muscles.
It’s impossible to see him half naked. The guys at the Heathens’ often parade half naked after showers or around the pool. Bran isn’t a fan of swimming, probably because he has to dress down for it.
I wish he’d talk to me more. While we often have conversations during breakfast or dinner, there’s a pattern I’ve noticed.
Whenever I ask something about him, he subtly turns the conversation so it’s about me instead.
He loves asking me questions about my parents, my siblings, my life in NYC, and even my role in the Heathens. Whenever I talk, he always listens with keen interest.
However, when I try to get to know him, he’s like a blank slate. He prefers talking about his friends and asshole brother instead of himself.
Which is annoying, to say the least.
It’s strange that he’s not in the kitchen. Is he not here yet?
I narrow my eyes. He said he was playing stupid video games with Mia earlier, so he better not have lost track of time.
And no, I’m not jealous of my baby sister.
Much.
I head to the guest room down the hall that he turned into a mini art studio. He said that since he’s spending more time here than at the Elites’ mansion, he can at least be productive and work on his art.
And seriously, that’s one of the best decisions he’s ever made. I love sneakily watching him being all concentrated as he does these bold strokes of color. I don’t understand them, but they look pretty and, most importantly, he looks hot as fuck when he’s in the zone.
He has this picturesque mountain painting that he’s been working on, but he doesn’t look pleased in the least when he does.