Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Silas said, huh?” She shook her head again, chuckling. “I can’t believe you know so many sports owners and celebrity athletes and…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes once again falling to her clothes. “Think I’m a bit underdressed for a celeb bar,” she said. “You said we’d only be going to a game, and you definitely left out the VIP box.”
I scrunched my brow. “I didn’t think I needed to mention it,” I said, eying her. “And your clothes are perfect. Seriously, I wish I could rock the leather leggings and graphic tee look. You’re fucking smoking and you know it.”
She smiled at me. “If you only had enough money to shop at Target, you’d rock the leggings and tee look too. Not all of us were born with Armani diapers.” She grinned at me, and I saw the tease in her eyes.
She was messing with me.
I playfully batted her shoulder. “You stop.” I shook my head, reeling my laughter as we watched Cormac and the rest of the Reapers race across the ice.
God, I loved Grace. She’d never pointed out the differences in our financial situations before—not in any way that would lead me to believe she was bothered by them. Sure, she had gotten into our school on a scholarship, and I’d had mine paid for, but it didn’t matter. We still loved the same music, rocked the same eye-liner, and lived for mint coffee creamer. Just because she worked nights at a popular NYC restaurant as a waitress until she could come up with enough money for her own line launch, it didn’t mean we weren’t the same where it counted.
And I’d definitely tried to invest in her clothing line—she had a knack for designing clothes for women’s bodies. Any body type looked great when she designed a piece, the draping elegant, the style unique and this side of edgy.
But she wanted to save up enough for herself, and I had to respect that.
Still, she’d never once looked self-conscious about that fact until today, but this was my first time flying her out to meet with the Reapers.
She just needed time to get to know the circle. Then she’d realize when it came down to the Reapers, money was the last thing on their minds.
“There is really a scythe over the bar,” Grace whisper-laughed into my ear as she sat next to me. We’d snagged a couple of barstools an hour ago and were two drinks deep, London on my other side, her best friend Savannah, next to her.
“There really is,” I said, sipping my cosmo while trying like hell to not think about who sat at the table just across the room.
“Which one is Sterling?” Grace asked after London had mentioned something I’d neglected to hear because I was too busy stewing about the fact that Cormac hadn’t cast a glance my way once tonight. Was a hi too much to ask? I mean, I didn’t live here. It wasn’t like I saw him every damn day. It would’ve been nice—
“The one next to my brother, Caz,” London said, pointing out the two men who sat at the same table as Cormac.
I breathed a sigh of relief, turning on my stool just slightly. London’s pointing gave me the perfect excuse to allow myself a look.
God, he looked even better off the ice, if that was possible. The entire table looked downright illegal—all of the men wearing their black Reaper athletic pants and white T-shirts, all freshly showered after their game. But Cormac? He radiated a sort of sensuality with an edge that I simply couldn’t resist. It didn’t matter how angry I was with him—I mean, seriously, how fucking hard was it to give me a wave? To acknowledge that I was alive and that maybe, just maybe, he kind of sort of missed me.
Because he doesn’t.
I quickly turned myself around, taking another long drink of my cosmo while London gave Grace a quick rundown of each of the men at the table.
Of course, he didn’t miss me. How ridiculous could I be? I may as well be that moony-eyed seventeen-year-old girl again. Getting all dolled up to come to a Reaper bar in the hopes Cormac Briggs might say hi to me. I’d even worn my best red Chanel lipstick. I rolled my eyes at myself. Was I really doing this? Torturing myself over one man? A man who I’d only shared a kiss with. A kiss.
An unforgettable kiss.
I clenched my eyes shut and threw back the rest of my drink.
Yes, I wanted to make amends. Had tried to, but he hadn’t given me the chance to do it properly.
Yes, I couldn’t stop thinking about him when I was New York, but it didn’t matter, he spent most of his time ignoring me or insulting me. Insinuating that I was a pampered little duchess who never had to work for anything in life.