Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
His eyes veer to the side, as if recollecting.
My heart picks up speed. “He said you saw me take something.”
Donnelly straightens out of the bent position and reaches out for the phone. “Can I see? It’s alright if you say no but—”
“You can see.” I hand it to him, having nothing to hide. And I kinda understand needing to see the full context of the conversation. I’d want that too.
Reading, he blinks several times. I wonder if he’s trying to drown the annoyed look crossing his face. Then he returns the phone and rests his forearm back outside. His body is ten-times more strained. Relaxed is not a word I’d anoint him with right now.
Nerves try to invade my stomach. “Were you going to tell me? Or were you scared to?”
“Not scared,” he shakes his head several times, then takes a drag, blowing a wispy line of smoke out the window. “I wanted to talk about it last night, but I wasn’t sure it’s something you’d want Eliot or Tom to know.” He shifts into a lunge position, both arms slanted against the windowsill. “If I brought it up then, you probably wouldn’t have said much, and I would’ve rather actually had a conversation with you about it.” He sucks on the cigarette for a beat longer.
Okay. He’s been wanting to talk.
That’s good.
I release a breath and stand from the toilet. I lean a hip on the other side of the window, facing Donnelly.
The Rudolph bath rug beneath our feet is soft and cozy, but I cross my arms at the colder draft. His gaze drops to my nipples, perked against my black silk nightgown. I’ve noticed he loves when I wear spaghetti strap tops, and I’m starting to believe this particular nightgown has magical properties of seduction.
I like wearing it. I like seeing how his blue eyes roam over my body with lust. How he looks as though he’s seconds from pinning me to a bed and lifting the hem.
I reach out for the cigarette.
Donnelly passes it over, and I take a short drag, listening as he says, “I’m not trying to keep anything from you that you’d want to know. It wasn’t intentional.”
I nod. “Hearing that makes me feel better.” I crouch to blow smoke outside.
He lets me hold on to the cigarette for a little longer. “There was a time when we were together where we talked about you doing drugs, but so briefly. I told you I knew you did ‘em because I’ve heard some rumors, but I didn’t know what was real because bodyguards talk. Some of it is bullshit. You said you’d tell me, eventually, but not that night.”
“I never got around to telling you, did I?” Sadness sinks in my stomach, especially as he confirms my suspicions.
He nods and says, “I don’t think you were doing anything as severe as meth or heroine. I think you probably wanted to tell me you’d taken Ecstasy.”
I frown, and he slips the cigarette out of my fingers, just to tap the ash outside. The ashy butt was about to fall on the rug.
“Thanks,” I murmur, then say, “I still don’t understand. Charlie said you saw me take something during the FanCon tour, and the night we talked about drugs was way after that when we were kinda together?”
“Yeah.”
“So why didn’t you tell me about it that night you and I were discussing drugs?”
“‘Cause we both already knew about it. It was sort of unspoken. I wasn’t gonna bring it up then, for the same reason you didn’t want to keep talking about it.”
“Why?”
He sweeps me. “We’d just had sex.”
Ohhh. Heat ascends my neck, and I wish I could picture exactly how he took me. “I’m feeling a wee bit jealous of her.” I pinch my fingers and squint at the invisible jealous matter. “Just a wee bit.”
Donnelly grins. “Just a wee bit.” He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be. I’m gonna fuck you harder than I ever did.”
It’s a promise said so casually that I nearly buckle at the knees. Holy shit. His grin widens before he puts the cigarette between his lips.
“I’d hold you to it,” I say, “but I can’t remember us having sex, so I’d have to consult Charlie about how hard you took me.”
Donnelly does not like that. When he isn’t fond of something, irritation or anger doesn’t radiate through his face. It’s subtle. The tic of his jaw, the downcast of his eyes. “If you wrote about it,” is all he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m not actually going to ask Charlie about that.”
“If it’s something you need to know—”
“I don’t,” I assure. “But I do still want to know about what you saw me take.”
He nods. “It was the same night I tattooed you on the tour bus.” He starts smiling, then laughs. “Christmas Eve, I’m pretty sure.”