Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Fine?”
“Good,” I correct. It was good.
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“It was different. Vanilla.” I shrug. Cutter is a rough lover, and I crave his animalistic fucking.
“What did you do when he told you he loved you?”
Died.
“What could I do?”
“Well, did you say anything back?”
Cutting a glare in her direction, I grind out, “I’m not going to pretend to feel things that aren’t there.”
“That’s good. Don’t take his heart if you can’t love him back,” she says, like I don’t already know how shitty that is.
Getting up, I begin stacking the magazines into a pile, irritated. “I wouldn’t do that. It was a one-time thing,” I say defensively. “He asked me for one night.”
Pushing to her feet, she brushes my arm with her fingers. “Don’t get upset.”
“I’m not upset.” I huff, plonking down on the mattress. “I’m fed up.”
“Okay.” Sitting beside me, she says, “Get ready. Let’s get drunk.”
That’s the support I’m looking for.
“I love you.” I nudge her shoulder.
Schooling her features, she looks me dead in the eyes. “I’m not fucking you for one night only.”
“Ha!”
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, holding up the lilac wig then the blue. Indecision has me dumping both. My naturally blonde hair hangs around my shoulders, a slight wave to it. It’s pretty, the same style and shade as Claire’s—why I started wearing wigs in the first place.
It sickens me to think how much I’ve allowed stupid things to affect me. Opening the cupboard, I rummage through the contents until I find a pair of scissors. Taking a breath, I smile at myself in the mirror and fist a clump of hair, ignoring the burn from my cuts as I snip away at it. Strands fall to my feet like confetti as I grip the next clump and the next.
When I’m done, it sits just below my jawline in jagged layers. Flawed, chaotic, fun. It’s me.
Slipping into a skin-tight black mini dress, I pair it with classic chunky-soled boots then smudge eyeliner under my eyes and smear on red lipstick.
A soft knock comes from the bedroom door. “I’m coming,” I call out, grabbing a bottle of perfume and spritzing it all over myself.
Waltzing through the bedroom, I grab the handle and pull it open, faltering when it’s not Rogue standing there. “Chris…”
“Hey, can I come in for a sec?”
“Sure.” Widening the opening, I stand aside, nervously tugging on the hem of my dress.
Scratching the back of his head, he avoids looking at the bed, focusing on a spot by the chair.
“Listen, Chris, I wasn’t fair to you yesterday.”
“No.” He shakes his head and comes to stand a few inches from me. Taking my hands delicately, he examines the cuts.
My heart pounds wildly in my chest. “You were clear with me about things, and I pushed.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t. Don’t be sorry.” He cups my cheek, a sad, resolute smile crooking his lips. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”
“I don’t want things to be weird between us.” I lean into his palm, my eyes closing. Why can’t I love you?
“How can they be? We’re friends, right?” His tone is a soft murmur.
Taking his hand from my cheek, I kiss the palm. “Of course. Always.”
“We’re adults. This was what it was, and now it’s done,” he states, though the words come out more as a question.
“Right.” I nod.
For the first time, I notice the road name sewn on his cut. Wheels. I stroke my fingers over the woven patch. “You won’t have to drive me around anymore.”
“That was the best part of my day.” He chuckles. “I’ll still take you wherever you want to go, Kit.”
“Kitty!” Rogue’s voice calls through the door. “I’m coming in. You better have clothes on.”
Taking a step back, Chris grins when Rogue enters. It’s genuine and happy. “Hey, trouble,” he greets her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.” Her eyes flit back and forth between us.
“Not the first time,” he teases, and she barks a sweet chime of laughter.
It’s easy with them, a real friendship. I hope we get to that point someday.
“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it. You both look really pretty.” Pointing a finger to his own head, he says, “I like the hair, Kit.”
“Thanks,” I say, fidgeting.
“Yeah, thanks, Chris,” Rogue says his name like it’s a secret she discovered.
Chuckling, he asks, “Do you need me to take you both somewhere?”
“No.” Rogue winces, stepping back out of the room and tugging someone into view.
“Kit, meet the newest Tim.”
A tall, broad, dark-haired guy looking like he walked straight from the pages of a rock magazine lifts a hand and winks at me.
“Hey.”
Great.
CHAPTER 21
MICHAEL
CUTTER
Dead, empty road stretches out in front of us as we stand under a canopy of trees waiting for the buyer for the AK-47s to arrive. The streets are eerily quiet and pitch black because no streetlamps were ever put in. A construction company had gone bust, leaving three sites with half-built houses. You get the odd squatter, but otherwise, it’s a perfect location for swapping merchandise.