Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“Who are you?” I open the door so she can get my full bitch energy.
“Sara.” She straightens, and again I want to scream. Another fucking model?
“Well, Sara, please tell Granger I’m tired. If he wants to talk to me, he can come to my room.”
She blinks at me then smiles. “Great, I will.” Turning, she slithers back to the elevator.
I almost call to her, but what am I going to say? You’d better not be fucking Rhys? Clearly, she is. I slam the door shut, all my exhaustion gone. Now I’m pissed.
Asshole.
I’ve been feeling shitty about how it went down the other day and he goes and does something like this? He can’t be that delusional, right? I mean he didn’t think I’d simply jump at the chance to talk to him. Run to his room like what—a groupie? He has to know I’m special. I’m me.
Dropping down on the edge of my bed, I toss my suitcase off with a thud. I need my phone. Julianna will listen to me rant. As I stand, trying to remember where I left it, a loud pounding makes me scream. I cover my mouth, freeze, and stare at the door like it’s going to magically open.
“Open the fucking door, Gia.” His raspy voice goes straight to my core. I shake my head but realize he can’t see me.
Actually, all of this is absurd. I told that dumb groupie to tell him. How did he get here so fast? Taking a glance in the full-length mirror, I almost laugh at how crappy I look. My face is fine only because I’m flushed, but I have black circles and haven’t had a chance to brush my hair yet. It’s a long, tangled mess. Since I don’t have my usual elastic band, I grab a pen from the desk and pin my hair up with it.
Before opening the door, I stop to take a deep breath. I’m sober, thank God. Hungover, but that can work in my favor since I seem to always make an idiot of myself when I’m alone with him anyway.
Trying to get ahold of my racing heart and the butterflies in my stomach, I take one more breath. “Be bold. Only the strong win, Gia,” I chant as I swing the door open.
RHYS
Past –Twenty-seven years old
Scottsdale, Arizona
“She said what?” I snap at Sara, who can’t even try to hide that she’s thrilled she gets to tell me this.
“She’s tired.” She shrugs. “I have zero idea why she’s such a bitch.” She reaches for a bottle of vodka only to stop when I glare at her.
I took a private plane with Ammo, using the excuse I needed time to write. In reality, it was to decide what the fuck I’m doing.
I shouldn’t go near her. But the bro code went out the window the moment my cock discovered her tight pussy. I’m not gonna broadcast that I’m fucking my friend’s sister or anything, but I’m also not denying that I want her.
Is it wrong? Maybe, but fuck it, no one’s perfect. Having Sara go get her was a dick move, but it’s not like she’s an angel. She wants to play dirty, then I’m the right man.
“What?” She licks her lips and stares at me. Doing one last pushup, I stand, ending my workout. I have an elliptical and a rowing machine that travel with me. In the old days, I’d box and work out with a trainer. Now I like a more traditional workout: heavy cardio and basic pushups and sit-ups, along with squats.
I open my door. This shit stops now. Gia’s not in charge. I crack my neck as I walk down the hall. I had Rafe put her on the band’s floor. He wasn’t happy about it, not that I give two shits. I want her close.
“Granger?” Sara yells. “Should I wait for you?”
“No.” I don’t even bother looking back at her as I pound on the door.
“Open the fucking door, Gia,” bracing my hands on either side of the doorframe.
She swings it open and I almost start laughing. Her green eyes, glistening with anger, widen as she greedily dips her gaze to my sweaty bare chest and basketball shorts.
“Oh.” She reaches for her hair as if to make sure it’s okay, then drops her hands and straightens her shoulders back. “What, Rhys?” Her voice cracks. She looks tired, almost fragile in the large white robe.
Pushing past her, I enter her room. Her unique smell of vanilla and whatever shampoo she’s used makes me grit my teeth.
Christ, what is it about her that makes it impossible to get her out of my mind? Her smile, eyes, the way she moves and smells? Maybe it’s just Gia. She ensnares you with her very being. It’s a unique situation I’m in, because I can’t stay away even knowing we’re going to end badly.