Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Errr…no. Definitely not. Shame though.” She purses her lips, “‘cos there are some hot guys in here tonight.”
“Trouble in paradise?” I ask, desperate to move the focus of the conversation.
“I don’t think so,” she says, “although he has been a little withdrawn lately.”
“That must be a relief,” I say, knowing how demanding Celine’s boyfriend can be. The guy has a permanent hard-on, and she’s always trying to escape his voracious sexual appetite.
“I guess. I told him to come tonight, but he has something else on.”
I shrug, not bothered that Eddie didn’t see my birthday celebration as a priority. He’s not my favorite person in the world. Celine could do so much better. I scan the crowd, wondering who she might consider hot. Dornan is looking sharp in a crisp white shirt and dark navy jeans. Elias too. Jermaine has a bandage on his face — probably an injury he picked up on the field — so he isn’t looking his best. Gareth and Bobby wouldn’t be her type. I guess she could be talking about a stranger.
Kain touches my arm to attract my attention. “Hey…would you like another drink?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s your birthday,” he says. “Of course I have to buy your drinks and…” he trails off, checking to see if anyone else is around, “...we each have a gift for you.”
Shit. My heart makes a funny squeezing beat and I bite my bottom lip, not sure how to respond. Birthday gifts weren’t a part of this deal and they definitely aren’t appropriate if we’re keeping our thing secret.
“Errr…thanks…”
His hand slides into his pocket, and he pulls out a tiny black box. It looks like a fucking engagement ring. “Open your purse,” he whispers.
I unzip my little black pouch purse that is hanging across my body. He slides the box inside, trying to do it as quickly as possible. “You can open it later.”
“I will.”
Blake steps forward and bends, trying to get me to hear him clearly over the loud music. “My present is your very own Nowak original tattoo…anywhere on your body, any design.”
“Really?” I gasp.
“You could even get the sleeping angel if that’s what you want.”
My instinct is to throw my arms around his neck, but we’re surrounded by people we know. “Thanks,” I mouth, holding myself tightly. “That’s awesome.”
Blake steps to the side, and Dalton takes his place. “My gift is at your place,” he says. “You’ll find it later; behind that giant pot your mom has in the front yard.”
I imagine Dalton skulking around at the front of my house, searching for somewhere to hide a gift. What kind of gift would he choose to leave there rather than bring here? A big gift, potentially. “Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
He forces his hands deep into the pockets of his black jeans and it feels as though he’s trying to restrain himself from reaching out to me. I feel that way too. Desperate to touch them and having to use all my strength and reserve to hold me back.
Everything about this situation sucks.
More people gather on the dance floor until our corner is filled with friends here to celebrate my special day. Usually, I’d love to be the center of attention, but it feels weird, almost as though I’m playing a part and none of the feelings are mine. I dance but I am conscious of every movement, wooden where I’d usually be fluid, conscious where I would usually be filled with abandon. Celine buys more drinks and I down a shot of vodka and another Red Devil, hoping the liquid courage will make me less awkward, but it doesn’t seem to work. Instead, a dark blanket settles over my heart.
My skin is magnetized to the three men who are politely socializing with my friends but should be touching me. They should be kissing me. They should be making it clear that I’m theirs and they’re mine.
Except that isn’t true.
We have a deal. A stupid deal that has confused me to my very core.
I’m about to make my excuse so I can head to the restroom and gather my thoughts when Celine makes a gasping sound. She’s staring at her phone, with her hand pressed over her mouth. I’m quick to get closer, sensing there’s something wrong. “Celine. What is it?”
She turns her phone screen in my direction, and I squint to focus on an image of what looks like a party. In the background of the picture is a man with a girl straddling his lap. I lean in, trying to make out what I’m looking at, and then I realize.
It’s Eddie. Celine’s boyfriend is somewhere else, with another girl in his arms.
“Oh shit,” I say, grabbing the phone and holding it closer to my face, wanting to make one-hundred-percent sure before I say another word. “That asshole.”