Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“We shouldn’t tell my brothers that we could be here for months.”
“Agreed.”
30
THATCHER MORETTI
3 Days Snowed-In
“‘Tell us if you’ve ever paid for sex.’” I read a lion-decaled card out loud and gnaw harder on a fucking toothpick. Which I’m only chewing because Tony keeps walking past the parlor. He thinks my brother is standing in for me with the Truth or Dare game.
Oscar and Farrow lean on the doorframe, deterring Tony from entering to bug the holy hell out of me. And the dwindling deck of cards is spread over a baby grand piano, where Jane and I stand close (but not too close).
Charlie sits at the piano and slides his fingers over the keys. “And?”
I focus back on the card. And the girl beside me. Jane perches her hands on her hips, sweater pink and fuzzy, and a 50s checkered scarf is tied around her neck.
I’d give her a Best Dressed award every day, every time. No contest.
She smiles up at me. “You first?”
Easy. “I’ve never paid for sex.”
She tells me, “Neither have I.” Her whole face brightens, treasuring a common fact that we share, and I try to force my affection in a cramped box.
Don’t go there.
Being stoic used to be too easy, but I have a serious problem now. I can’t look at Jane Cobalt with a blank expression—not when I’m engulfed with affection that ranges from innocent my-heart-is-yours to sensual I-want-to-fuck-you-on-this-piano.
Counteract this shit.
I stare at the window. Where heavy drapes frame a snow-piled landscape, so glaringly white that it practically sears the eye.
Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and as we all take breaks from executing “escape plans”—Jane’s cousins and siblings have slowly started to realize we can’t defeat Mother Nature. We have to wait, and the team now has a new objective.
Keep morale high.
Not just among bodyguards.
No one wants their client to be sad or moping during the holiday, and if we can make this snowed-in catastrophe easy for them, we’ll try.
Charlie plucks the card from my fingers. He burns it in a glass cup.
Arms crossed, I glance to my three o’clock. Sensing Tony’s presence, and sure enough, he lingers near the doorframe. His arrogant smirk on me.
I glare.
Oscar chats with him.
“Ignore Tony,” Jane whispers. “He’s bored and looking for entertainment.”
I nod once and bite harder on the toothpick. I hate the taste. I hate how my jaw aches, but I could hug Banks for his obsession with these motherfuckers because it’s a shield that could help me through the extended snowstorm. How is Banks doing pretending to be me in Philly? …I can’t know.
Hopefully he’s kept his head up. It’s hard not to worry about him.
Jane starts to gather the deck off the piano.
“We’re not done,” Charlie declares and bangs a high-pitched key. “Leave them there. Choose another.”
I eye Tony. He’s out of earshot, but he gesticulates towards us and speaks to Oscar. My best guess: he’s asking what Banks (aka me) and Jane are doing over here. You know, just playing with Truth or Dare cards.
Talking about sex.
A weird thing for my brother to be doing alone with my girlfriend.
Clear-cut, the risk has just heightened, and we’ve been toying with trouble enough.
“Later,” I tell Charlie.
“No. Now.”
“Charlie,” Jane says hotly. “This is serious.”
“So is this.” His left hand presses keys, playing a melodic classical tune. “You should thank me, I’m giving you ample time to spend with your—”
“Charlie,” she hisses, wide-eyed.
“He can’t hear us over the music.”
Maybe, and that’s a weak maybe.
“And anyway, he already thinks you’re sleeping with both Moretti brothers. This won’t make a difference.”
“God,” she winces and sends me an apologetic look.
I’m used to it, and I just make a fast decision. “Let’s do it.”
“Really?” Her eyes bug more.
“Yeah.” Through all this Tony horseshit, these cards have strangely brought Jane and I closer—and I want to flip another.
She pulls back her shoulders. “We’ll carry on then—” Her voice cuts off, and our heads turn at the thundering sound of indoor jogging.
Five people pass the doorway in workout gear. Sulli, Maximoff, Will, Quinn, and Joana.
While Maximoff jogs past, Farrow gives him a blatant once-over, and we all watch Maximoff trip on a rug.
Everyone laughs, and my lip begins to lift.
“Jesus Christ,” Maximoff curses. “You didn’t see that.”
“I definitely did,” Farrow teases.
I stare down at Jane. She’s radiant seeing their love, and the only reprieve I can give myself is this: I didn’t ruin Maximoff and Farrow. I would’ve never forgiven myself if I had been a cause to rip them apart, but those two—they’re unshakable.
I’m jealous of how good Farrow is at navigating rough terrain in relationships. I feel about as graceful as an ox on a ship.
Those five start to jog away. Footsteps trailing in the distance.
Luna Hale nicknamed that group “House Fit” since they’ve been running through hallways and up and down stairs. Sulli invited me, but I have little patience for group workouts unless a punching bag or gloves are involved.