Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
“About what? The weather? Isn’t that a Brit’s favorite topic?”
His lips curve into a wry smile. “Hardy-fucking-har. For the record, Seattle’s weather is about as shit as London’s.”
I grin.
“No, smartarse. I mean talk in general. You know, like people do.”
I draw a line between us on the table. He gets my meaning and instantly rubs it out with his finger. Dick.
“I want to know how you and Day ended up best friends. You are nothing alike.”
My grin widens. “Isn’t that the best part? Opposites attract and all that. Besides, you’d be surprised how alike we actually are.”
“I don’t see it.”
“You wouldn’t. We both have really hot tempers—”
“Noticed that,” he mutters.
I kick his shin. “We both have our guilty pleasure TV show—mine is The Big Bang Theory and hers is The Walking Dead. I know, they’re different, but whatever. We both like wine and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and my cat. No, scratch that. Nobody likes that grumpy little shit.”
Tyler laughs. “Seriously, though. You’re so different. I don’t see how it works.”
“It just does. Like, she plans everything down to the very last detail, but I’m impulsive. Like with the wedding—she jokes about eloping to get married, but she never would. She’d have a meltdown before she even reached the airport. If anyone’s going to elope to get married, it’d be me.” I sip my wine. “She prefers lingerie, but I prefer shoes. In fact, I’m pretty sure I have a pair of shoes for every set of lingerie I own.”
“Good to know.”
I roll my eyes. “She wears dresses and heels as standard, and I wear jeans and usually flats, despite my extensive heel collection.”
“All right, I get it. She’s high-maintenance and you’re…”
“Watch what you say there, buddy. Just because I pick comfort over blisters doesn’t mean I’m not high-maintenance.”
“The only high-maintenance thing about you is your attitude, Liv. In fact, you’re very easy to deal with when your mouth is occupied.”
I run my tongue over my bottom lip. “How would you know? You haven’t occupied it yet.”
Tyler leans in and hooks a finger under my chin, bringing my face close to his. “It can be arranged, babe.”
I lower his hand and sit back, a smile tugging at my mouth. “I’m sure it can be. But we’re talking right now, remember?”
“I’m not sure I’m a fan of your mouth talking.”
“And I’m not sure I’m fan of yours doing the same thing, but isn’t life a bitch?”
He laughs. “Touché. Okay, what are we talking about now?”
I barely think before I ask him my next question. “When did you realize you were a sex addict?”
He jerks slightly and I know I caught him off guard. Good. That’s my favorite. “Jump right in there, why don’t you, love?”
I smile.
“That’s a serious question?” he clarifies.
“Absolutely. You want to talk, so let’s talk. Right down to the gritty bits. I assume that’s why we’re here.” I cross my legs beneath the table and lean back in the booth.
He catches his tongue between his teeth and studies me for a moment. “A couple of years ago. And before you ask, no, sex isn’t an outlet for some monumental fuck-up in my childhood. I like sex, I had a bit too much, and I got addicted. It works the same way as any addiction. You get one taste, you want more and more, then suddenly you can’t live without it.”
His eyes are focused on mine as he says the last sentence. The very same sentence that wraps around me, tightening my chest and ricocheting off every corner of my mind.
“I never assumed sex was an outlet,” I say almost tightly.
“People use sex for a lot of things. Some people use it as a guard. Don’t they?”
“And I’m not ashamed to admit I use sex as a guard. There’s nothing wrong with protecting my heart by using my body.” I tap my fingers against the table. “There’s nothing wrong with protecting your future by securing your past.”
“Why are you so afraid?” he asks softly, resting his hand over mine and stopping my tapping. “What do you have to be so afraid of?”
A bitter laugh leaves me. “No. I’m done talking now.”
“Liv.”
“Tyler, please,” I whisper. My words are barely audible over the noise in the bar.
I’m not ready for that—I’m not ready to admit out loud to someone how I almost died because I was once addicted to someone so intensely that I truly believed my life wasn’t worth living without him.
“I’ll take you home.” He stands.
I do, too, wrapping my arms around my stomach. Those memories are tightly locked away. Stuck in a box locked with a key I threw away long ago. I don’t want to remember them and see the pain in my best friend’s eyes when I regained consciousness or the helplessness in my parent’s gaze.