Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
My bare ass, lifted just enough for someone to see that I am most definitely fucking the man I’m straddling. The man who isn’t my boyfriend.
And, in the mirror behind the booth, my face.
Another buzz.
Unknown
What would your boyfriend think?
“Is something wrong, Ruby?”
I startle and nearly knock off the glass of wine the bartender just set down in front of me. “No. It’s fine.” I don’t sound convincing, even to myself. Sure as hell not enough to get past Michelle.
She narrows her pretty green eyes. “We lie to other people. We don’t lie to each other. What’s going on?”
My resolve to keep my earlier activities to myself crumbles. I’m not ready to talk about whoever the fuck is texting me—I’ll deal with that later—but cheating on Luke? That knowledge is a stone in my stomach. I cast a look around the place. It’s a completely different crowd than the last one, even though only a handful of blocks separate the bars. We’re firmly in neutral territory here, and while there hasn’t been war between the territory leaders since before I was born, everyone still breathes a little easier when they’re in the shadow of the Underworld. Whoever took that picture of me isn’t here. I’m sure of it.
Mostly sure.
I shiver. “I, uh, just had sex with some guy in a private booth at the bar down the street. That’s why I was late.”
Michelle lets out a whoop that turns several heads in our direction. “So you finally broke it off with the wet blanket. That calls for a toast and some shots.”
For the first time, guilt takes proper residence inside me, overriding the other emotions. “We didn’t break up.”
She freezes. “Ruby.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” She nudges my wine toward me. “Look, I get it. Luke is hot as fuck, and he knows his way around a clitoris. So do a lot of people. You’re bored with him. Worse, in my opinion, you’re boring while you’re dating him. Or at least you are lately.”
I jerk back, stung. “Wow, tell me how you really feel.”
“I only do it out of love.” She sips her wine. “I understand the urge to play daddy’s little girl, especially since you have two dads, but aren’t you tired of pretending to be someone you’re not? I threw that shit away years ago.”
Yeah, Michelle had. The second we turned eighteen, Michelle buried her last give-a-damn and went to town. She partied everywhere except the Underworld—there are some lines not even she was willing to cross—and slept her way through half of Carver City.
I was so jealous, I could barely breathe past it.
There was nothing stopping me from doing the same thing. Nothing except myself and the expectations I set up. As if by carefully not stepping out of line, I could keep my parents from intervening and pushing even harder for me to take up my role as heir—I never realized that the strongest chains a person can be bound in are those of their own making.
“It’s different.”
“If you say so.” She shrugs. “Look, I understand exactly how exciting it can be to do something you’re not supposed to. You get no judgment from me there. I just don’t understand why you’re staying with Luke if you’re out riding someone else’s cock.”
I toy with my wine glass, not sure if I can fully explain what I don’t entirely understand. “I care about him.”
“See my last point—you don’t care enough to not cheat on him.”
My phone buzzes on the bar and I shudder. “I don’t know, okay? I’m just not ready to break up with him.” I drop my phone into my purse.
“Is it your parents? You know they aren’t going to think less of you that the first boyfriend you ever had isn’t your end-all, be-all.”
She’s being logical, and there’s nothing about this situation that’s logical. “If I break up with him, there will be questions. I’ll have to move home, and then Aunt Sienna will be in my business. She already doesn’t believe he’s good enough for me, and if she thinks he did something—because she’d never believe I’m the issue . . .”
Michelle grimaces. “At that point, we might as well kill him and save him from her locking him up in her murder basement and torturing him for months.”
“It’s not a murder basement,” I say faintly. “It’s a lab.”
“Two terms, same result. Besides, the alternative is for you to stay with Luke forever, becoming the cliché of a bored housewife. What’s next, sleeping with the pool boy?”
“We don’t have a pool in our apartment complex.” The protest is weak, even to my ears.
“Then tennis coach, tutor, fill in the blank. You know what I mean.” She nods at my glass. “I think we need something stronger to continue this conversation.”
I’m already motioning the bartender over. “Agreed.”