Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
His words, though meant to defend me, poke holes in me, shining light into the dark secrets I’m actively hiding from the outside world. Does he think a year off from college will help me choose between him and his son?
I grow quiet as the men discuss more of their campaigns, dancing jovially around the specifics so as not to give each other an edge. Sarah keeps sucking down wine like it’s her job and barely touches her meal.
“What does your mother think about all this?” Sarah asks, waving a hand in the air, nearly knocking over her empty glass. “She approves of you having date night with Daddy?”
“Mom doesn’t care,” I snap, unable to keep up the polite façade.
It’s the truest statement I’ve made all night.
Hugo, sensing my distress, places a hand on my upper back and studies me intently. The warmth of his touch is comforting. I feel stupid for my outburst.
“You two make a cute couple,” Scott says, wagging his brows at Hugo. “Keep it in the family.”
“Scott Jeter,” Sarah snarls, slurring her words. “Apologize to the girl.” She waves a manicured hand toward another table. “All of social media will see you behaving like a horndog.”
Scott follows her gesture to a guy holding his phone up, recording our dinner. He holds up his fourth or fifth glass of wine in a toast to the onlooker. “Vote for Jeter, AG!”
Sarah, clearly annoyed with his behavior and shitfaced herself, rises unsteadily to her feet. She points a finger at him and wags it. “You always do this. You’re an embarrassment.”
“Sarah,” Scott bellows. “Sit back down and maybe lay off the wine.”
She scoffs and storms off, bumping into a waiter. The guy’s tray wobbles and he nearly loses several hundred dollars’ worth of steaks to the floor. As soon as she’s gone, Scott shrugs.
“Don’t ever get married,” Scott says to me. “Stay single and fuck whoever you want. I sure as hell wish I had.” His gaze drops to my tits and he grins in a salacious way that makes my skin crawl.
“That’s enough,” Hugo clips out. “I believe that’s our cue to leave.”
“Oh, come on,” Scott complains. “I’m just ribbing you, man. I can behave. Promise.”
Hugo is already rising to his feet and tossing his napkin onto the plate. He holds out a hand for me to take, which I happily do. Once I’m also standing, he wraps a possessive arm around my waist. I want to remind him we’re being watched, but he doesn’t seem concerned.
“You can get this dinner,” Hugo says with a fake polite smile. “I’ll get the next one. Goodbye, Scott.”
Relief floods out of me as we walk through the restaurant. Eyes are on us, but Hugo doesn’t seem to care. When we finally make it outside, I’m able to breathe again. We spy Sarah leaning against a Mercedes while on her cell phone, chain-smoking. She sees us but doesn’t wave. Fuck you too, lady. Fuck you and your husband.
Hugo opens my car door and helps me in. He’s once again behaving like a gentleman on a date. At the restaurant, I began to feel like his stepdaughter and honestly it sucked. He climbs into the driver’s seat and then reaches over to take my hand.
“I’m sorry, Love. That was a fucking disaster.”
“Yeah. They’re both obnoxious. You know you’re going to win, right? That guy probably gives everyone the creeps. No one will vote for him.”
His smile is handsome as he regards me in the dark car. “You’re always so loyal and supportive. Another thing I love about you. What do you say we go someplace else? Somewhere discreet. I’ll sneak you some wine. A real date.”
It sounds lovely aside from the whole sneaking me wine because I’m so obviously under the legal drinking age.
“Yeah, sure,” I say with false cheer.
As much as I want to spend time with Hugo, I also ache to just end the night in Spencer’s cozy bed, laughing and listening to him tell me crazy stories about the twins.
Hugo backs out of the parking spot and heads down the road, palm resting comfortably on my thigh. My phone buzzes in my clutch. I pull it out, hoping to see a text from Spencer. It’s not.
Unknown Number: I know you’re fucking them both, whore. Keep at it and you’ll be next…
My blood freezes in my veins. This doesn’t feel like the usual needy text from Ben. This one bleeds with animosity and hatred much like the carved “slut” on the front door, the scattering of my private photos, the snake in my bed and the accompanying note. It’s my stalker.
I’m about to block the number when a picture comes through.
It’s a wrecked car, folded around a tree like it’s made of aluminum instead of steel. The car looks familiar. Oh my God.