Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
He snorts. “We both know it’s another appendage that has full control over me.”
Once we’re dressed, ready to head out, I steer Oskar toward the mirror in our room.
“Other than your wayward hair, you look good.”
He scrubs a big hand through the mess on his head, making it even more rumpled. “Something’s telling me it’s not my hair people are going to be looking at.”
Then his gaze slides to his cheek. Needing to give him some of the comfort I wanted to last night, I step up behind him and prop my chin on his shoulder. He leans into me, and I can’t help sliding my hands from his waist around to settle over his abs.
“It’ll heal,” I assure him. “Besides, you actually look like a hockey player now. With all those teeth of yours, I was starting to think you were lying to me.”
“It does look badass, huh?”
“Badass. Rugged. Slightly unhinged.” I turn my head so my lips are by his ear. “No one’s going to call you pretty again.”
His chest expands on a deep breath, and it feels like he melts against me. “Is it weird that all anyone could talk about was plastic surgery and it’s the last thing I want?”
“Nope. Because they don’t know you. As your PR manager, I should be encouraging you to go with that option …”
“And as Lane?”
I don’t want to say it, but the way his eyes are pinned on my reflection makes it difficult to keep quiet. “I think you should keep your scar.”
His lips part. “Why?”
“Because I know you want to.”
Oskar straightens and turns so he can see me properly. “Yeah. I really fucking do.”
“Then that’s what’s gonna happen.”
“And if Mick pushes for the surgery?”
“We’ll sic Damon on him. One of the smartest business decisions you ever made was signing him as an agent.” I cross to the hotel room door and hold it open for Oskar.
He sticks close to me in the hall, stands so his shoulder touches mine in the elevator, and when we cross the foyer, his hand ghosts over my lower back.
The whole time, I try to keep my business face on. We’re in public, and even though it’s only a small hotel in Burlington, I have no idea how many others are staying here, considering the fundraiser drew a few volunteers. As far as anyone knows, I’m here in a professional capacity and not because I’m struggling to walk away from the man beside me.
As we collect the rental car from the hotel parking lot, we head south for the one-hour trip out of Burlington to a smaller town called Maybury. It’s beautiful out here. Small and idealistic.
When we pull up out the front of a shiny new facility, I give Oskar’s thigh a reassuring squeeze. “Your friends are all here. Might be a good chance to let them in a little, don’t you think?”
“We’ll see.” He slides his sunglasses on and jumps out of the car, waiting for me on the sidewalk. We’re early, but there are already a lot of people around, so I lead Oskar away from the large doorway with the welcome banner stretched over it and toward the side entrance, where Richard said he’d be waiting for us.
He’s a fair bit younger than me with a thicker beard and a friendly smile, and from what I’ve gathered through emails, the people running this camp were friends of his, so he’s organized the event in his downtime.
“Lane?” he asks as we approach.
I shake his offered hand. “I couldn’t keep Oskar away.”
“That’s great, man. We’re so happy you could make it. Beck’s a big fan, and, well, so am I …” Richard’s stare catches on Oskar’s injury, and he cringes. “So sorry about that too. I caught the game, and I swear I could feel it through the screen. I had a few bumps and bruises when I played, but nothing like that.”
Oskar shrugs. “All part of the game.”
“Damn straight.” Richard holds out his hand for a fist bump that Oskar returns right as Tripp and Dex Mitchell arrive.
They immediately steal Oskar’s attention, replaying the hit to his face. Tripp goads him about having better aim next time, and Dex loudly exclaims Oskar should go to his next costume party as a pirate.
“Or the joker,” Richard happily adds.
“Yes.” Dex throws his hands up. “Oh my God. Idea! Tripp’s birthday. Villain party. You’re the joker, Tripp can be—what’s that chick with all the vines?”
“Poison Ivy?” I ask.
“Exactly. And I could be …”
Oskar, Tripp, and I exchange a look because I’ve never met anyone who exhibits less villain energy than Dex. None of us have a suggestion for him.
“Harley Quinn,” Richard suggests.
Dex gasps. “I could totally do booty shorts.”
“Great idea.” Oskar slings an arm around Dex’s shoulders. “You’d be my bitch for the night.”