Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Farrow messes with the puzzle. “You can’t smuggle him on the bus, Cobalt. If you want him, we’re all meeting him.”
“What do you think, Moffy?” she asks.
“I think it’s your choice.” I dunk a tea bag a couple times. “But if I have to share space with your Asshole With Benefits, there’s not a chance I’ll be able to hold my tongue.”
She could do light-years better than that fucking douchebag. He cares more about expensive things than about her. I swear he’s complained a million times that our townhouse lacks a pool, hot tub, six-car garage, private guesthouse, etc.—and he’s told Jane that she should move out ASAP.
Beckett eyes me. “He’s that bad?”
I see-saw my hand like so-so. “AWB #2 was definitely worse.”
Jane shoots me a strong look. “Je regrette d’avoir demandé ton avis.” I regret asking for your opinion.
I touch my chest. “Tu connais mes sentiments à propos de Nate.” You know my feelings about Nate.
Beckett turns to his sister. “Est-ce qu’il t’a frappé?” Did he hit you?
Oscar whispers in Donnelly’s ear. I quickly realize that I have no idea which bodyguards are fluent in French. Farrow definitely isn’t.
Jane shakes her head adamantly. “No. Never.”
“He’s just an asshole.” I finish off my tea in one gulp. Literally every bodyguard trains these narrowed, pinpointed eyes on me like I’m withholding security info. “That’s it.”
Farrow tilts his head from side-to-side, considering my words. “Okay, but there’s a range for assholes, and most of us want to know where Nate falls.”
Oscar spreads out two hands to demonstrate the range. “There’s the likable asshole over here.” He waves his left hand before lifting up his right. “Then there’s the abusive motherfucker that deserves to eat cow shit.”
“And die,” Donnelly adds.
“Painfully,” Farrow finishes.
“Funny,” I mutter and notice Jane and her pissed off face: brows pinched, lips pursed, not as terrifying as she wishes she could be. “Janie can tell you where he falls on the asshole range. She knows him better than me.”
“He’s a likable asshole,” Jane announces without a beat, fierce blue eyes pinging to everyone. “He’s only treated me with respect. For the sake of my future orgasms, leave him be.”
Donnelly smirks. “Farrow knows a little something about protecting and serving orgas—”
“No.” Thatcher shuts that down.
Christ, my neck is burning. I’m not embarrassed. No—that’s not a feeling I feel often, and I’m not letting it creep into me.
Farrow studies my reaction, and I try to recover with a sip of nonexistent tea.
Yeah, my mug is empty.
He’s near-laughter.
I’d combat him, but Thatcher speaks. “Back to the main issues.” He focuses on Jane. “About your cats—”
“I’ve taken care of them,” Jane begins with urgency. No emotion attached. Like she’s discussing bus mileage and the trip route. “My sister already agreed to watch all six while I’m gone. My oldest cats and youngest kittens love Audrey, and she loves them fiercely. It all works out well.”
My brows scrunch. “It’s four months, Janie.” She’s never been away from her cats for that long.
“They’re in good hands.”
Thatcher types on his phone. Taking notes. “How’s Licorice doing?”
Jane almost blushes. “Um,” she says, frazzled by the question. “Still skittish from being stuck in the crawl space, but I’m glad you found him.”
“Me too.” Thatcher checks notes on his phone. “The tour should help with the incest rumor.”
Jane clears her throat. “I propose we ban that word.” She means incest.
I grimace. “I second that.”
Heavy silence falls, and Thatcher pockets his phone before looking to Jane, then me. “I don’t know if it’ll mean anything to you two,” he tells us, “but I understand what you’re going through. Years ago, when I was in high school, Banks and I got the gamut of twin questions. Most were harmless but others…” He trails off, and we can easily fill in the blanks.
Banks Moretti is his identical twin, and also the 24/7 bodyguard to Xander.
Beckett nods strongly, also a twin. Also understanding.
Jane and I don’t have to ask for examples or specifics. I stare off for a second—for Christ’s sake, I should’ve realized sooner why Charlie would be at the lake house in support.
Why he’d understand like Thatcher and Banks. Like Beckett.
With zero evidence, the media tried to twist my close friendship with Jane into something perverse. But Charlie dealt with that all the time too.
I was there in high school. I heard guys ask Charlie harmless questions like can you read your twin’s mind and then they’d veer into shitty things like do you sleep with your twin? They’d snicker as they prodded how many three-ways have you had with Beckett? And weird shit like if you’re naked, are you confused about who’s who? Have you touched each other’s…?
Charlie would wear his annoyance. I remember that and how he’d just walk away. Move on. That’s all he could do.
And I know that’s all we can do now.