Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Damn, that sucks. Do you take anything for them?”
“Nope.” I stand, sliding my phone into my shorts as I get my jacket out of my locker and slide it on before I change out of these boots into some flats. It’s early morning now—three a.m.—and I am dead-ass tired. But I know I won’t sleep, no matter how hard I try.
“What about drinking? We can drink for what’s left of the night, and hopefully, that will knock you out,” she offers as I head to the back door. She follows, gripping her bag in her hand.
“I don’t know, I just—”
“Alaska,” Louise interrupts. “I think someone is here for you.” I look to where her finger is pointing and see Zuko leaning against my car. The very same car he bought me. I thought after that night I ran out on him I would never see that car again, yet here it sits.
“Do you want me to stay?” she asks.
I shake my head as I stare at him. He’s dressed in all black—his usual attire—as he waits for me.
“Those hands. Now all I’ll be thinking about is those hands,” she whispers.
I stifle a laugh and watch as she walks to her car, giving Zuko a small wave as she gets in. He doesn’t acknowledge her, just simply stares at me.
My shoes crunch lightly against the concrete with each step I take to reach him. When I’m standing in front of him, I stop and look at the car.
“You brought me my car,” I say, smiling and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
“I don’t have your phone number or address, so I figured it was best I return it myself.”
“It’s still mine?” I ask, confused.
“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. I hold out my hand for the keys, and he glances at it. “I want your number. And I want to see you more,” he declares.
“See me more?” It’s been a week since I last saw him. I like that he isn’t needy, but when he wants something, he takes it. Me included. I can’t help but stifle a yawn and quickly cover my mouth.
“Are you tired?”
I raise a brow at him. “Of course I am. I just finished a shift on my feet for eight hours straight.” He seems to think about my words before he opens the passenger door and indicates for me to get in. “Where are we going?”
“To my place. You need rest.” I look at the car and back at him. “I can’t sleep,” I tell him.
“You can and you will.”
“You just want to fuck me again,” I say, getting in the car.
“Oh, make no mistake about it, I very much do.” He shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s side. I watch him as he starts the car and pulls out onto the road. “I will fuck you again. But when you are not a walking zombie.”
“I don’t sleep well,” I admit. Fuck, I blame the lack of sleep on my recent path of honesty—first Louise, now him.
“What helps you sleep?” he asks.
As he pulls onto the highway, I don’t even bother checking where we’re going. I just turn my body and stare at him—trust me when I say it’s a better sight.
“I haven’t really figured that part out yet. It’s taking me a bit,” I share with a shrug.
“I don’t understand.”
“Some nights I sleep fine, some nights I won’t. It’s just a matter of when my brain decides it wants to fuck me over, really.” His fingers tap on the steering wheel, and I can’t help but study them. He has a plain black ring on his right ring finger.
The car seems to go completely silent before his eyes shift my way.
“I slept great that night after you fucked me,” I add with a smirk, but he doesn’t give the reaction I thought he would. No wide eyes at my words. They just don’t seem to shock him as much as they do other people. Even other men, when I randomly blurt stuff out, are usually shocked. Zuko, not so much. He looks at me like he is trying to piece me together.
You and me both, mister.
“Do you want me to fuck you again?” he asks.
“I’m not sure I would be much fun. Plus, that would require touching and as you already know, I hate being touched.” I yawn again as we pull up to a one-story house. The outside is dark, so I can’t really see all that much, but I can tell the lawn is well-manicured, and in the driveway sits a very nice, expensive car.
Without saying anything he gets out and strides around to my door. Pulling it open, he offers me his hand, and I take it, coming to a complete stand in front of him. He pushes the door shut behind me, then squeezes my hand and leads me to his front door. I wonder what he’s thinking but get distracted. This guy is a bag of contradictions. Expensive clothes, flashy cars, the way he lets me—technically a stranger—take and use his credit card. But his home isn’t as big or as fancy as I thought it would be. The door is an average white color with nothing special about it. Not even a fancy door knocker or bell.