Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
But I don’t want to make this Flynn’s problem. He shouldn’t be my rescuer. Neither should Adrian. I’m strong. I got up on that stage tonight and danced. I’m reclaiming my sexuality.
“I’m sorry. I’m okay now,” I lie.
I’m not going to be crazy with Flynn. He’s the guy who makes me feel normal. Or at least semi-normal.
I’m not going to make him take on my burdens for me. It isn’t fair.
Nadia
I wake in the middle of the night in a full panic attack. I can’t breathe. The clanging of metal surrounds me. Cigar smoke burns my nostrils.
I claw my way to sitting but don’t know where I am. Not until I hear Flynn’s sleepy voice. “Nadia?”
Flynn.
I’m in his bedroom. Tears prick my eyes as my breath gradually wheezes in.
“Was it the cigar guy?”
I’m so grateful at the matter-of-fact way Flynn asks the question. Bringing it out of the shadows and into the light.
“Yeah.” I recall the pieces of the dream. Cigar man was on top of me, choking me with the choke chain dog leash.
Flynn hands me a bottle of water next to the bed, and I take a drink.
“I thought I was going to die. I wished I was dead.”
“In the dream or when it really happened?”
“I don’t know. Both, I think.”
Flynn swings his long legs off the bed and gets up.
“Where are you going?” Flynn is sweet about letting me keep a light on when we sleep, but even with it on, I don’t want him to leave me. The fear from the dream is still coursing through my body.
“I’m gonna get us some ice cream. Because ice cream makes everything better.” Flynn pads off to the kitchen, and I pull the covers up to my chin, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
He returns with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream and two spoons and climbs back into the bed.
And just like that, Flynn makes the ugliest parts of my life bearable again. Almost pleasurable even.
Because Cherry Garcia ice cream is unbelievably good, especially when it’s shared in Flynn Taylor’s bed.
Cigar guy no longer had me as firmly in his grip because now I had something to distract myself with. Ice cream and Flynn.
CHAPTER 13
Nadia
Sunday we stay in bed until late afternoon. My body is sore and raw in all the right places. I haven’t felt this comfortable being naked or even being in my own skin since before my abduction. Actually, ever.
Something about Flynn just allows me to let down my guard. To feel free. Like anything’s possible.
Flynn gained another fifty thousand followers since last night’s show. The short clips I posted seem to be going viral.
Flynn’s phone dings with an incoming text, and he picks it up and looks at it. “Hey, this is my dad,” he says, leaning up on an elbow. “He wants to know if I can fill in with his band in an hour.”
“Yes! I want to see his band. With you playing. May I come?”
Flynn’s grin is lazy. It makes my heart lurch. “Well, yeah. I was sort of asking you if it was okay if I played. I mean–I didn’t know how long you were going to hang out.”
“Oh!”
Gospodi, have I stayed too long? Is this getting too intense for him? I don’t want to be like that horrible Cadence.
I crawl off the bed. “I can go now. It’s okay.”
Flynn grabs my ankle and tugs me back. “Whoa. Where are you going? Hang on. I don’t want you to go.”
“You don’t?” I try not to sound as happy and hopeful as I feel.
I think we’re pretty good together.
That was what he said once, but I didn’t know whether he meant in bed or as a couple.
Probably not as a couple because that’s not what we are.
He crawls over me. His long bangs hang across his right eye. He’s beautiful in the morning sun. Magnificent, really.
I wish I could capture this moment for his fans.
Not for me. I don’t get to hold onto him. To this.
He straddles my waist and pins my wrists beside my head. Because it’s Flynn and his touch is gentle, nothing about the situation reminds me of captivity.
“Peaches, I have a bone to pick with you.”
“What does this mean?” I don’t understand the English turn of phrase.
“It means I have a complaint to lodge.”
“Oh.” My heart rate picks up speed. I’m already upset before I’ve even heard why he’s mad at me.
“I’m getting tired of you not making demands of me.”
I blink. Try to comprehend his words. Blink some more. “What?”
“I just invited you to weigh in on what we do tonight, and you try to bail on me.”
Bail. I remember this word. He means leave.
A warm flush washes over my skin, creeping across my chest and up my neck to my face. Do I understand him correctly? Is he saying I have…rights to him? To his time? His life?