My Rules (Kingston Lane #2) Read Online T.L. Swan

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Kingston Lane Series by T.L. Swan
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Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
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“Because she’s suffering, and I feel sorry for her . . . but I did warn you.”

“When did you warn me?” I scoff.

“All along I told you that she wasn’t ready. Remember, hurt people hurt people.”

“What was that bullshit, anyway?” I roll my eyes. “Why didn’t you just speak English and spell it out for me? It would have saved me a whole lot of heartbreak. It goes like this: Listen, Blake, Rebecca is still in love with her ex, so you should steer fucking clear of her at all costs.”

“Believe me, I tried,” Henley fires back.

“She is not in love with John,” Antony snaps, disgusted. “Are you crazy?”

“All I know is that she’s not in love with me.”

“You know that’s not true,” Henley says. “She’s just sorting through some shit.”

“I don’t care, anyway.” I shrug. “I’m getting back on the dating scene. Rebecca who?”

Henley winks and clinks his beer with mine. “Attaboy.”

Rebecca

I lie on the couch and scroll through my phone. My finger hovers over the name.

Blake.

It’s been seventeen weeks since I spoke to my best friend. And I want to tell him all about the things I’m doing to try and get better.

All the silent tears that fall.

Can he feel my love from here?

I go to yoga and meditation and therapy, and I’m keeping a journal, and Daisy and I walk twice a day . . . and . . .

I miss him.

More than I’ve ever missed anything.

I have this deep ache in my heart that won’t go away, and I fear that I’ve ruined my life forever. For how can I ever feel whole again if I don’t have him by my side?

But then the coin flips, and I feel insecurity creep in, and I know that I can’t go back to that place.

Not now, not ever.

So I’ll stay in my lonely bubble for one.

It’s safe here.

My finger hovers over his name . . . What if I messaged him just to say hi?

Would he answer?

I throw my phone onto the floor to rid myself of temptation and let out a deep, deflated breath as I hold up the remote to the television.

Netflix, my constant companion.

Blake

The light shines through the window, and I squint as I try to get my bearings.

Hazy images of last night dance through my mind, and I look over at the bedside table to see two wineglasses, one with the red lipstick still on it.

Fuck.

My stomach turns, and I pick up my phone and scroll through my numbers. My finger lingers over the name Rebecca.

I have to hear her voice . . .

Just once.

I can’t stand it one day longer.

If I can just hear her voice . . . then . . .

I stare at her name, and I desperately want to press it.

Could I . . .

No.

I get up in a rush and tear the sheets off the bed in disgust. I march to the laundry room and throw everything in the washer and fill it with disinfectant.

Every time is the same.

I get into the shower, and I soap up and scrub my skin with vigor until it’s red and raw. I scrub and scrub and scrub.

I feel dirty, so fucking dirty.

The necessary evil is about to fucking kill me.

Why does everything feel so wrong now?

Trapped in purgatory with no way out, I slide down the tiles and sit on the floor.

The hot water falls over me like a dark blanket.

Physically in New York, emotionally back on Kingston Lane.

Mentally fucked wherever I go.

Seven months later

“Yeah, and then at halftime, they got the goal.” I push through the door of the bar; it’s Friday night, and I’m having drinks with some colleagues from work.

New York has grown on me; work is amazing, and I’ve made some great friends.

Things are better . . . I am better.

“So what, the ref was at fault?” Andrew asks.

“Absolutely.” I roll my eyes. “And then to top it all off, he missed the shot.” We wait at the concierge area. “Hello, table for four, please,” I tell the waiter.

“That will be a few minutes. You can take a seat at the bar while you wait, if you like.”

“Sure thing.” We make our way through as we keep discussing the game in great detail and take a seat at the huge, horseshoe-shaped bar.

“Four Heinekens, please,” Stuart tells the bartender.

We keep chatting and get our beers, and eventually the waiter comes over. “Your table is ready, sir.”

“Thanks.” I stand, and as I go to turn, I see a familiar face at the opposite side of the room. Wearing a tight red dress with her hair down and curled, she’s sitting at the bar.

Rebecca.

She smiles softly, and before I can stop myself, I’m walking over to her.

“Hi, Blake.” She smiles up at me.

“Hi.” I frown.

“You look good.” She smiles as her eyes drop down to my toes and back up to my face.


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