Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
That we’re right back at square one, when he waltzed into this fucking place and turned my whole life upside down again.
“You hate me,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion.
I harden my heart against his words. “I don’t care about you enough to hate you, James.”
He flinches like I slapped him across the face.
Eyes going dark.
He nods, getting to his feet and striding quickly toward the door.
He closes it behind him, and I hear him go down the hall, open the door to his own room. Hear the headboard knock against the wall as he climbs into bed.
I can’t handle it.
I get up and go into the washroom, sitting down on the toilet.
The only place I can cry without him hearing me.
Twenty-One
JAMES
I fucked up.
I fucked up big-time.
I fucked up big-time before with Laila, but this time, this is such a monumentally huge fuckup that it’s blown past the boundaries of the solar system. I’m talking a fuckup of galactic proportions, one that I will take to my grave as my biggest regret.
“James?”
“Huh?” I turn to see Magnus staring at me quizzically. I guess I am standing in the hallway outside Laila’s room, just staring at her door like a fucking stalker. Since I fucked shit up last night, I’ve been trying to apologize for how I acted, but she won’t give me the time of day, and I can’t exactly grovel in public here with her. So I’ve been standing outside her door in hopes that I’ll catch her for a moment. It’s after dinner, and I know she’s in there with a book or perhaps sticking her pins in a Scotsman-shaped voodoo doll.
“You look rough, man,” Magnus says, slapping his hand on my back. “I mean it. You need to come with me.”
“Go with you where?” I ask, pivoting to watch him throw on his coat.
“Well, me and Einar. We’re taking you out. You haven’t had a night out in a long time.”
I give my head a shake. “I’m fine.”
“It’s an order, James,” Magnus says. “From the Crown Prince of Norway.”
I sigh and grab my coat. I hate it when he pulls that out. Frankly it’s no different from when Bjorn did the same after the fiasco at the ship museum (which, thankfully, didn’t result in any news articles about bad boy Bjorn).
Einar drives us into the city, and it’s no surprise where we end up—Harold’s, the dive bar that Magnus took me to before.
Einar enters the bar, and when he deems it secure, waves us in; meanwhile I’m watching behind us for any threats. But the street is dark and quiet, the sounds muffled by the falling snow, and with the way the temperature is, people aren’t walking around much. Yes, it’s even too cold for the locals.
I step inside the bar behind Magnus, and he immediately turns around and gives me a look. “You’re off duty. Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Being a bodyguard.”
“I am your bodyguard,” I tell him. I’ve been especially on edge ever since the attack.
“Not right now. You’re here tonight as a friend. And as a friend, I’m getting you drunk.”
“I told you, I don’t like to drink in public if—”
“I’ll fire you if you don’t do a shot with me.”
I stare at Magnus. His eyes are glinting, and it’s hard to tell if he’s serious or not. He very well could be, as unpredictable as he is.
“All right,” I concede under my breath.
He lets out a devilish laugh, and I definitely see how Bjorn is his son. “You made the right choice. Come on.”
We go over to the bar while Einar stands by the front door. Magnus says hello to the regulars, none of whose names I can remember, except for Slender Man, for obvious reasons.
Harold pours us both a shot of aquavit—not my first choice, but I down it to appease Magnus. Maybe he’ll just stop at one.
But that’s just wishful thinking. Because he orders another shot for both of us along with beers to take back to our booth in the corner.
“Okay, let’s try this again,” he says, raising his shot glass once we’ve sat down. “Let’s skål to you, James. To your happiness.”
I frown. “Okay…”
I lift my shot glass and clink it against his. The second time it goes down feels a lot better than the first, but I’m grateful for the beer as a chaser.
Except the beer happens to be dark as sin and strong as hell.
“Whoa,” I say after a sip. I’m used to the low-alcohol beers that you find in every grocery store. “Now that’s a beer.”
“I knew you’d appreciate it,” Magnus says.
Do I ever. I end up drinking the beer rather fast, and when I’m done, I’m pleased at how even-keeled I feel. Definitely on the way to drunk.
Magnus doesn’t hesitate in getting us another, and when I’m halfway through that one and feeling rather defenseless, he tilts his head and gives me an expectant look.