Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“It doesn’t matter what happened. It was a mistake. One I’d rather not think about ever again.” And without waiting for anyone to ask me what I mean, I stalk out of the room and into the kitchen. I pluck a bottle of white wine out of the fridge and pour myself a glass. Giselle walks in after me, pulls a bottle of Patron out of the freezer, and pours some into a shot glass.
“You might want this instead.” She hands me the shot. When I eye her quizzically, she says, “Jase confirmed he’ll be at the party tonight.”
Just. Fucking. Great. I set the wine glass down and take the shot from Giselle. Tilting my head back, I throw back the entire shot, reveling in the burning trail the alcohol leaves behind as it goes down my throat.
* * *
I’m sitting in the plush booth of the M Lounge, one of New York’s most exclusive nightclubs, watching everyone I’m here with dance with someone else. Olivia and Nick are swaying to the music with their arms around each other. Giselle and Killian might as well be getting it on right there in the middle of the dance floor. My good friend, Mercedes—who is also a model—and her husband, Brandon—who plays for the New York Brewers—are grinding against one another. Several other friends of Nick and Olivia are dancing as well. All with someone in their arms. Me? I’m alone, sipping on a strawberry Mojito, while waiting for Chad to arrive. He’s late. Again.
My eyes, of their own accord, find Jase and Jax, who are both leaning against the bar, each nursing a beer. We have a VIP area roped off with several booths to accommodate everyone who’s here to help celebrate Olivia and Nick’s upcoming nuptials—complete with our own waitress. While I’m sitting in one of the booths, sipping my drink, I notice that Jase hasn’t once come near where I’m sitting since he initially showed up and said hello to everyone but me.
As I’m taking another sip of my drink, a cool pair of lips brush against my cheek. When I look over, I see Chad is here, still dressed to the nines in his three-piece suit he wore to work. It’s not that I saw him leave for work this morning, it’s just that he wears the same version of this suit every day. He sits next to me and grants me with a quick “Hello,” before he pulls his phone out from his jacket pocket and starts typing on it. I eye him for a long minute, annoyed as hell that he’s already back to business, but too exhausted to argue about it. Instead, I down the rest of my drink and look back out to the sea of people on the dance floor. Only this time another couple has been added to the mix. Jase is holding hands with a blond-haired skanky-looking woman as they make their way to the middle of the dance floor. She immediately turns her back on him and starts grinding her ass against his front. Her arms go up, raising her already short shirt to just below her tits. My eyes scan down her body. She might be dressed like trash, but there’s no denying she’s hot—in a two-bit stripper sort of way.
Before I can look away, Jase’s eyes lock with mine, and for a brief second, it feels as if we’re the only two people in the room. Only we aren’t, and the woman rubbing all over him is proof. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t glare either. I can’t quite pinpoint the look he’s giving me. Is it apologetic? Regret? Maybe it’s indifference. I’m not sure, but I have to force myself to look away before any of the emotions I’ve managed to keep hidden, surface.
“Dance with me,” I murmur into Chad’s ear. He glances up from his phone and eyes me speculatively. “Please.”
He releases a frustrated sigh. “In a few minutes. I’m in the middle of an important chat with a client in China.”
“No, now,” I demand, fully aware I sound like a bratty teenager.
Chad’s brows furrow as he takes me in. “Are you drunk, Celeste?”
“No,” I snap. “I just want to dance with my boyfriend. Is that too much to ask?” I stick him with a hard glare.
He sets his phone down on the table, but I notice he’s still in the group chat. “What’s gotten into you lately?” he questions. “You’re acting like a petulant child.”
“Because I want the man I’m dating to pay attention to me?”
“You’ve never acted like this before,” he accuses, his tone a mixture of confusion and annoyance. He stares at me for a long second before he says, “You’ve changed. What’s going on with you?”
I scoff as if I have no idea what he’s talking about. Even though he’s right. I have changed. And I hate it. I don’t want to feel this way. I want my company and success to make me feel complete. I want my beautiful high-rise condo to not feel so lonely. I want my wealthy, hard-working boyfriend to be enough. But I can’t stop all of my emotions from breaking through. I’ve felt myself changing for a while now, but I ignored it. And then I saw Jase, and every raw emotion I’ve kept buried deep, surfaced without my permission.