Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I grunt, and he backs away as I try in vain to tug Ava’s dress down.
“Good evening,” he says, returning to his desk.
“Fucking dress is fucking ridiculous,” I grumble, boarding the lift and leaning down, stretching a finger to find the buttons while keeping hold of her. The doors close, and I look at her. She’s dead to the world. “You’re never drinking again, just so you know.” My eyes drag down her dress. “And I’ll be having a thorough check of your wardrobe.” And throwing away any unsuitable dresses. I nod agreeably to myself and leave the lift, struggling to get the door open.
I drop my keys and phone on the table as I pass, heading straight for the stairs. As I enter the bedroom, I lose grip of her purse, and it hits the floor with a thud. I leave it and lower her to the bed, rolling her onto her side to access the zipper on her dress. She moans and murmurs as I peel the non-existent fabric down her body, revealing lace. Lace knickers, lace bra. Lots and lots of lace. I smile. Then pout. Torture.
I gather up her dress, getting a waft of wine. Did she tip it all over herself, as well as down her throat? I shake my head and take it downstairs, tossing it in the washer and frowning at the dials on the front. I have not one fucking clue what I’m doing, and after pushing and pressing, twisting and pulling, I give up and go back upstairs.
I walk into the bedroom and tread on something. My eyes fall to her purse on the floor. It’s open, the contents scattered everywhere. I slowly dip and collect up her things. Her phone. Keys. A lipstick. My hand reaches for a thin strip of pills, my lip receiving a punishing chew as I turn them over in my hand, noticing only one has been taken. A new packet. Do what it takes to keep her. I shake my head. What the fuck are you on, Ward?
Stuffing the packet back inside her purse, I rise and toss it on the dresser, then slowly strip as I watch her sleeping. I round the bed and crawl in beside her, brushing her hair from her face. So peaceful. So unaware of the craziness running amok in my mind.
All is not lost. You still have some wins ahead of you.
Ava will make me a victor, not a failure. With her, I win.
Keep her. Do whatever it takes to keep her. Surely I can’t—
My eyes fall to her purse on the dresser. I see the pills inside. And before I know what I’m doing, I’m out of bed and raiding her purse, digging out the small packet. I stare at them. For a long, long time, I just stare at them. Crazy! I quickly slip them back in and walk away. And stop halfway across my bedroom, my eyes darting at my feet. I’ve been trapped. I can’t even believe I’m thinking this shit. But I didn’t want to be kept. I wasn’t in love.
Ava is.
I look at her on the bed. Oblivious. Oblivious now, drunk and sleeping, and oblivious tomorrow, awake and sober. She won’t remember what she said. She won’t remember a thing.
I reverse my steps, taking her purse and leaving the room. When I reach the kitchen, I stop by the island, swallowing hard, considering her clutch bag in my grasp. I throw it on the counter and pace back into the lounge, like I could be trying to escape a ticking time bomb. “Fuck.” I find a wall and lean face-forward into it. “Stop,” I growl, reaching up and smacking the side of my head, bashing away the madness. Someone needs to have a serious word with me because I’m trying myself and getting nowhere.
Desperate, I track my phone down to the table by the door and call John. He answers in a heartbeat.
“I’m about to do something monumentally stupid,” I say when he answers, letting myself out onto the terrace, hoping some fresh air might help clear the fog of craziness.
“Where are you?”
“Lusso.”
“Does it involve alcohol?”
“Depends who’s drinking,” I reply, perching on the edge of a lounger and taking some deep breaths. John’s silence spells confusion, so I elaborate. “Ava’s here. Pissed as a fart.”
“You plan on joining her?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, I fear what I’m about to do would be worse than me cracking open a bottle of vodka.” I’m speaking without thinking, my motor mouth working faster than my twisted mind in this mayhem.
“What the fuck are you going to do?”
I fall to my back on the lounger and stare at the black sky. What can I say? The truth? He’ll have me sectioned. I deserve to be sectioned. And Ava would be well within her rights to walk away. Should I be giving her another reason to do that? Fuck me, I’m losing it. And before I confirm that to John beyond all doubt, I need to think quickly. “I roughed up her ex-boyfriend tonight,” I say quietly.