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)
“What is it about her?” she asks.
It’s exactly what John asked. Except I can’t share with Sarah. Won’t. And it’s a moot point now, anyway. Ava walked away. I’m done. It’s finished. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I can’t sit here under her interrogating stare. “I have things to do.” I get up and round my desk, mentally scratching around for what it is I need to do exactly. Nothing. Everything here is fine, always is, whether I’m absent in mind or body or not.
“Tomorrow night,” she calls, and I frown, keeping up my stride. “We have a meeting with a few members about another member.”
“Can’t make it,” I call without thought, my frown deepening. What the fuck else am I going to do? My eyes land on my new suit as I take the handle. “You’ll have to manage it on your own.”
“Why, where will you be?”
Probably punishing myself. “Otherwise engaged,” I say, turning and flashing her a smile that won’t fool her. I close the door, my smile drops, and I rest my forehead on the wood. I cannot go to the launch. I cannot call her, see her, pursue her.
There’s something.
Oh God.
I want to see you.
My fist comes up and pushes into the wood firmly, my eyes clenching. “Just fuck off out of my head, woman.”
Don’t stop this.
I don’t want to.
“Then why the fuck did you?” I ask quietly, squeezing my fists as I push myself off the door. I pull my phone out. Dial her. “Answer, baby,” I whisper, mentally praying. I know I’m praying for a miracle. I’m not even blessed with fairness, so a miracle is way out of my reach. “Come on, come on.” I turn my face to the ceiling. Is there a god? Would he hear me? Listen to me?
No.
It goes to voicemail, and my face screws up in agony at yet another rejection. I punch the door, angered. She’s scared. Scared to talk to me, scared to face me.
And I know why. It was insane. Our kiss. Our skin touching. The look in her eyes and undoubtedly mine. This isn’t just attraction. There’s more. So much more. It’s something inexplicable. Something fucking huge.
A connection that I can’t dismiss.
The door of my office swings open, and Sarah’s mouth is locked and loaded, ready to ask why the fuck I’m beating the door. Then she catches my expression. I can only imagine how I must look. Despaired. Desperate. Hopeless.
She withdraws, her mouth snapping shut, and I breathe in, turning and walking away. She doesn’t ask me where I’m going this time. Doesn’t throw any sarcasm or snide remarks at me.
She lets me go.
Good. Because I’ve thought of something I really have to do.
That explanation I’d accepted I would never get from Ava?
I want it.
Now.
7
It takes everything in me not to storm her office and start throwing around my demands. I haven’t got much willpower at the moment, as most of it is being used to resist my craving for a drink. Seven days without a drop. Fucking incredible.
I settle on paying her a visit at home.
“How the fuck does she drive this thing?” I mutter to myself, yanking her Mini into reverse and backing into a space outside a convenience store not far from Ava’s place. I virtually crawl out of her car. I must look ridiculous.
The lady behind the counter beams at me as I approach, her eyes sparkling with delight. I have no energy to dazzle her further with a smile. “I need a disposable phone, please.” I pull out my wallet, my eyes lifting to the shelf behind the counter, automatically landing on the vodka.
“No problem,” she sings. “Do you need a SIM as well?”
My eyes don’t move from the vodka. “Yes.”
“That’ll be thirty pounds, please, sir.”
Give me a liter of vodka too.
“Thanks.” I slap a few notes on the counter, snatch the phone and SIM, and get out of the store, feeling my brow dampen. I throw them on the passenger seat, wedging my body behind the wheel again, and pull off quickly, getting far, far away from the temptation. Heading for another lure. A more powerful lure.
I pull onto her road and glance up at the house as I pass, seeing the lights on the first floor are on. Swinging into a space, I cut the engine and flip open the glove compartment. I look through the CD’s she’s got stashed in there, smiling when I see Blur in her collection. I pull it out, eject the Ibiza dance tracks—definitely more her genre than mine, another reminder of the age gap—replace it with Blur, and skip to the track on my mind, my smile growing. But it falls when I stare across the road, wondering what reaction I’ll get this time. Has she been thinking about me?