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)
For fuck’s sake. “We need to get rid of one of them.” Because as long as they’re both members, there will be constant clashes.
“You had your chance,” John reminds me, and I roll my eyes.
“I was thinking specifically Mike, actually.” The guy, understandably, hates me. He blames me, and I know my short fuse at the moment won’t allow me to handle the situation with anything other than a fist in his face.
“I’ll see what I can do. Where are you, anyway?”
“My apartment.” At least, I will be. I turn onto the main road and start looking out for a cab.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Car returned?”
“Yes.”
“All okay?”
No. “Yes.”
“Fine. See you in the morning.” He hangs up, and a cab pulls over the lanes and up to the curb. I jump in and flop back, feeling exhaustion take hold. I reach for my throat. It’s rough and scratchy. My heart actually hurts from the relentless pounding. My skin is sore from the constant bombardment of heat.
And yet it’s still feels like a far more appealing kind of hell than being blind drunk.
Or have I simply forgotten how blissful that nothingness is, even if only temporarily?
8
I have absolutely no desire to go to The Manor today. It seems I’m constantly dealing with shit, dodging shit, and getting myself into shit. John’s fat fingers are drumming the steering wheel when I slide into the passenger seat, and he’s humming.
His fingers stop. His humming stops. He looks across the car to me. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t sleep.” I don’t know what contributed to my insomnia more. Ava or alcohol on my mind. One would have eliminated the other. And yet, having a drink feels almost like letting myself down, and I’ve never had that direction of thought before. “What’s the situation with Coral and Mike?”
John pulls off. “Put your belt on,” he grumbles, and I sigh, doing as I’m told. “Mike’s pissed. Coral’s pissed. Everyone is pissed.” He turns his deadly glare onto me. “Don’t get involved with a married couple ever again, you stupid motherfucker.”
I blow out my cheeks, rubbing at my forehead. I doubt John has ever called me a stupid motherfucker as many times in the space of one week. Can’t say I’m loving it. Deserve it? Yes. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“There’s something in the bag on the floor for you.” He motions to my feet, and I reach down, dragging up a Tesco bag. “Looks like you need it.”
I pull out a jar of peanut butter and smile for the first time in what feels like days. “Cheers, bud.” I dive right in.
“So you and the girl? It’s done?”
“Not by a long shot,” I say without thought and immediately regret it. I shove my finger in my gob to shut me up. I don’t need him to nag me. Not today. Not ever. “She’s stubborn.”
“She’s sending you off the deep end, that’s what she’s doing.” He turns his shades onto me as I plunge my finger into the jar again. “You were there last night.”
I don’t look at him. “Briefly.”
“And she welcomed you with open arms, right?”
I breathe out, already exhausted by the day. He knows the answer to that. “Why are you so averse to this? Are you and Sarah working in cahoots?”
He frowns at the road. “What’s Sarah got to do with this?”
“She has an uncanny habit of appearing, calling, or texting whenever I’m a heartbeat away from . . .” I wonder how to put it without sounding like a total creep.
“What?”
I shake my head and screw the lid of my vice back on. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not averse.”
“Then what are you?”
“Worried.”
“Why?”
He hums, not so quick to reply this time. I’m not drinking. I’m not shagging. He should be happy for me. “Give me one good reason why she’s a good idea,” he says.
“Because she makes me feel,” I answer without delay, and John looks across to me. I don’t give him a chance to question me. “Because the moment she walked into my office, my skin buzzed. My brain spun. My mind was elsewhere, and by elsewhere, I mean not at The Manor or at the bottom of a bottle of vodka. If there’s not something in that, I don’t stand a chance of ever being able to repent my sins or live a normal life.”
“You want to live a normal life?” He laughs. “You own The Manor, Jesse. You can’t lure a woman into falling for you without telling her who you really are.”
“Maybe The Manor isn’t who I really am,” I say quietly, looking out of the window. “And lure? You make me sound like a fucking predator.”
John huffs a sardonic burst of laughter, and I scowl at the streets of London as they whizz past. “Have you tried talking to her? Conversation?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
I think hard, revisiting every encounter with Ava O’Shea. I find plenty of stalking and not much talking. In fact, with the exception of our first meeting when we chatted briefly about interiors and extreme sports, which was beyond pleasurable, the rest of our encounters have been lacking in the conversation department. “No,” I admit.