Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Jeremy has been keeping his distance, but he’s been following us around from the get-go. Like, everywhere. I’m sure the only reason he didn’t glue himself to Cecily is because she asked him for some alone time with me.
Although he’s standing across the room, his entire attention is on her. His dark eyes meet hers, and in that fraction of a second, I don’t see a scary motherfucker with a reputation that sends people running. I see a man who loves my friend as furiously as she loves him. A man who’d level the world to the ground just to protect her.
“Want us to give you a lift?” she asks, ripping her gaze from him with obvious effort.
“I drove.”
“But you’re drunk.”
“I only had half a shot and you snatched it away before I could finish it. I’m perfectly sober.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’ll call an Uber.”
“That’s not exactly safe.”
“I’ll ask Papa’s chauffeur to pick me up. Is that safe enough?”
“I guess. I’d rather we take you home.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Just go before Jeremy hates me some more for daring to occupy your time.”
“Since when do you care what he thinks of you?”
“I don’t. I care about you, and you love the twat, so I have to put up with him.”
She gives me a quick hug. “Love you. Let’s watch Bridget Jones’s Diary tomorrow, deal?”
“Deal.”
“Text me when you get home.”
“Yes, Mum.” I salute.
She gives a subtle shake of her head before she moves in Jeremy’s direction. Cecily chances one last look at me, her brows drawing together, and I can see her contemplating either staying or forcing me to go home early like a granny.
I fake my best smile and send her kisses. Before she can change her mind, Jeremy appears in front of her like a mountain. His hand slips to her lower back with subtle possessiveness and he drops a quick but passionate kiss on her mouth that makes her forget about me.
Only momentarily, though, because she keeps looking at me as he hauls her out of the club, warding off any unwanted attention.
She deserves all of that and more. If there’s anyone in the world who’s owed happiness and a man who only brightens up when she’s around, it’s Cecily.
I’m slightly envious of what she has, but then again, to get something like that, someone needs to be as selfless and as pure-hearted as she is.
Innocent, maybe.
Less mentally sick.
More…normal.
So it’s pointless for me to even hope for what she has—what all my friends have.
I snatch a glass from a passing man’s hand, down it, and nearly cough.
Whiskey. Yikes.
Still, I have manners. So I kiss my finger and place it to his mouth in the form of a thanks as I stroll back to the dance floor.
One more hour.
I’m not ready to face the emptiness that comes afterward.
If I’m drunk enough, I might forget a little.
Escape a little.
Live a little.
In no time, I’m surrounded by a group of people. Some are friends or classmates from the art school. Others are new faces.
The more the merrier, if you ask me.
We’re on holiday from uni and it’s our last year. Cecy already graduated, and it’s no fun without her at Royal Elite University. If I weren’t positively terrified about living in my parents’ house again and letting them see me in raw, painful detail, I would’ve transferred to a London university.
But oh well.
Thankfully for me, I didn’t come here to think.
I slide my fingers into my long blonde hair, lifting the strands to reveal my bare back as I sway sensually to the music.
Warm hands drop to the exposed skin on my sides and I playfully shove them away.
“You can look, but you can’t touch, Ollie,” I coo over the music.
Not sure if he heard and I don’t think he cares, to be honest, because he continues staring at my hint of cleavage, blatantly eye-fucking my long legs, bare shoulders, and anywhere his greedy eyes can reach.
Perfect dress, in my humble opinion.
The string tied around my neck keeps it in place along with the tiny micro-miniskirt. Snake-like straps spring up from my stilettos and hug my legs in stunning glittery pink.
“You owe me for earlier, love,” Oliver says as he dances in beat with me, mirroring my every move, every bat of my lashes.
“Oh?” I play coy. “How much?”
“I’m expensive.”
“Not more expensive than my trust fund, Ollie.” I stroke my fingers beneath his chin, tracing his skin with my chrome-pink nails as his nostrils flare. “Besides, we both know you’re not thinking about money as a currency.”
“Did I think right?”
“Possibly?”
Oliver is classically handsome—square face, light-hazel eyes, and sandy-blond hair. Pretty sure I dry humped him a couple of nights ago when he dropped me off.
He wasn’t happy with how I left him unsatisfied, but he keeps coming back for more, so maybe if I’m in the mood, I’ll go further.