Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 120134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
“Sorry, lovely. Getting fucked is not in your cards tonight.”
The door opened.
“Honey, I’m home,” Sailor sing-songed sarcastically. She froze on the spot when she realized I wasn’t alone. I sat upright, thinking, This is salvageable, until I felt the bra falling from my face onto the carpet.
Shitfuckhell.
Song of the day: “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen.
“CT, this is Emily.” I motioned to my guest, pretending this chick hadn’t been in the process of hoisting herself onto me a hot second ago. Swear to God, the idea of fucking her hadn’t even occurred to me. I mean, in the future—one-hundred-and-ten-percent yes. Right now, though? Too risky. My bloodline, my inheritance, my future depended on my ability to keep my pants on. Plus, I was putting a dent in the Sailor project. “Emily, that’s my roomie, Sailor.”
“Hi!” Emily jumped to her feet, waving and flashing a smile. Her tits bounced, bra-less, and her nipples were semi-hard. Sailor didn’t return the gesture. I paused the movie no one was watching anyway and strolled over to my banshee frenemy.
You could feel the atmosphere shifting, dipping in dark smoke. Emily picked up on the awkwardness. She scooped up her bra, phone, shoes, and car keys while shuffling around like a harassed ostrich.
I took Sailor’s duffel bag and disposed of it in the spare room for her. “How was the photoshoot, kiddo?”
They’d put Sailor in bright red lipstick and thick, neon blue eyeliner. Combined with her copper hair, it made her look like a sexy David Bowie cross-dresser. Her eyes were still on my face. Round and wide and bottomless and what the fuck have I done?
“I’m out of here,” Emily chirped to no one in particular.
I walked her to the door because I wasn’t a complete douche canoe, and because I was pretty sure she thought Sailor was my girlfriend. I squeezed her shoulder.
“I’ll call you,” I lied.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Hmm, would you mind taking the stairs?” I shifted my weight from leg to leg. “Ya know, cameras and stuff.”
“It’s a skyscraper,” she hissed.
“Oh, come on. Going down shouldn’t be that hard for you.”
Shut the fuck up, my brain yelled at me. I really had a way with words.
She dashed like a bat out of hell, leaving skid marks on the marble. I turned around, raising my palms at Sailor.
“I can explain.”
She said nothing. Just stared at me. Which was worse than being yelled at, somehow.
“We were just watching a movie.”
“Were you using her bra as glasses?” Sailor inquired dispassionately.
“Actually, the bra was a recent development. She wanted to mess around. I wasn’t game.”
“Why? It’s not like it’d have made a difference. Your father probably knows she was in the apartment through CCTV. That’s why you asked me when I was going to be here today, no?”
It seemed the electricity had come back on.
Sailor didn’t wait for an answer. She sauntered briskly to the bathroom. I followed her, feeling pussy-whipped, sans the pussy. The implausible tininess of her person in contrast to the impact she had on my life made me want to tear this place to its bones and watch it collapse, brick by brick.
“Wrong. I didn’t even know her until a couple hours ago. I ordered DoorDash, planning to listen to the material Knox sent me from Syllie, and she was the delivery girl. She said the electricity was down in the entire building. She came up the stairs because the elevators were down. Da doesn’t know.”
“That sounds like a great porn script,” Sailor mumbled, turning on the tap and trying to wash her face. She tried to claw the makeup off with her fingernails. She had no idea how to remove makeup, but pointing that out was going to make her maim me with her bow.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I stroked my jaw, thinking about the positions I’d fuck Sailor if we ever made a porno together. “Point is, nothing happened. I’m allowed to have female friends.”
“She is not your friend.” She air-quoted the last word, irritated with the stubborn makeup. She turned off the faucet, punching the marble counter and wincing.
“Jealously suits you, CT. Irish chicks look great in green.”
“I’m not jealous! I wish I’d stayed out so you could go all the way and screw up your life. You’d deserve it, too.” She was shouting now, throwing her hands in the air. She dashed for the door.
I blocked her way, full-blown laughing now, my arms on either side of the doorframe.
“Is that right? You’d rat me out, CT?”
“In a heartbeat,” she snapped. “Move along now, pretty boy.”
Another jab. Man, she wanted the Vitamin D.
“Bull. Shit,” I whispered, not buying it for a second. Even if I’d fucked Emily, her imaginary twin sister, and every girl in this building, Sailor still wouldn’t snitch on me. She’d be mad, fuming—and would probably transport every piece of garbage in North America into my room. But she wouldn’t ruin my life.