Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I walk into a guy who scowls at me, so I turn to show him the finger. The back of my heel slips on the damp floor, and I trip just as a man stands up from a booth I’m passing. I drop straight into his lap.
When I stare into his eyes, I’m so startled that for half a second I forget all about Happy.
This man could model, not only for a brand catering to guys like me but one of the fancy ones with stores on Fifth Avenue. Flickering light plays in his hazel eyes as time seems to slow down around us. My heart speeds up though, its warning beats as if to say ‘Don’t do it, Killian, don’t do it’. He’s not just handsome. He’s beautiful like the statue of a fallen angel I once befriended when I spent two weeks sleeping in a church.
Fallen or not, could he possibly be my guardian angel tonight? He’s sturdy under that elegant suit, maybe even big enough to make Happy think twice about throwing his weight around.
I’m forced to think about my reality, so I look away from the beauty spot on the stranger’s cheek and search for Happy in the crowd. He knows where I am and heads our way, so I wrap my arm around the man’s shoulders in desperation and whisper.
“Please, quick, pretend you’re my boyfriend.”
Happy won’t respect it or like it, but at least he’ll think I’m not alone, which is the only deterrent I can think of right now.
The stranger has the longest eyelashes I’ve seen on a man, wavy dark hair in a neat yet romantic do, and when he looks straight at me, danger crawls to the edges of my mind, replaced by excitement.
In real life, someone like this guy wouldn’t look my way, but in this artificial reality—
I stop breathing when he holds my chin with two fingers and leans in, meeting my lips with his. The kiss is soft, almost chaste, but it makes my balls throb unexpectedly.
It must be the adrenaline of trying to escape Happy that's creating all the sparks in my chest, but their heat is enough to melt my insides. I wanna ride this man’s dick already, and I hate myself a little for it. If he lets me, he’s my next mistake.
I almost forget he’s not my boyfriend yet and that he’s just doing me a favor. The kiss feels real though. Or I’m just delusional.
I don’t have time to find out before I hear Happy’s grating voice, like nails on a chalkboard, spoiling our moment.
“The fuck is this, Kill? I thought we were gonna talk,” he says, biting the scar on his lower lip in a way I used to find hot.
I hate that I have to tear my eyes away from this absolute heartthrob to look at my ex. I jump to my feet and square my shoulders, but I stay firmly inside the booth and out of his reach. “What does it look like? I’m fucking busy. And I’m not talking to you again. Ever.”
Happy’s nostrils flare in the same way they do whenever he’s about to throw a punch, and I realize that to someone like him, the hottie in an expensive suit might not be a deterrent at all. Guilt bites into me as I realize I might cost this poor stranger a broken tooth. I slide off his lap when he rises and puts one hand on the back of the bench, creating a divider between Happy and me.
“Damen,” he says in a low, even voice. He doesn’t offer my ex his hand in a way that feels offensive despite the neutral expression on his face. “I’m afraid my boyfriend doesn’t want to talk to you, so do us all a favor and leave.”
My heart skips a beat. ‘“My boyfriend”. Yeah, that sounds good coming from Damen. I don’t know if I’m swooning or trembling. I don’t love that I’m such a coward sometimes, but a man’s gotta know his limits, and while impulsivity can sometimes get the best of me, I try not to get in fights I can’t win, unless cornered.
I stare into Happy’s eyes as he squints at me like the menace to society he is. “You heard Damen. Fuck off, I’ve moved on and you should too.”
Happy’s attention turns to my protector. “You really want to risk your nose for this piece of shit?” He points to me and steps closer. My stomach sinks at his words, and I’m feeling even smaller than my skinny ass is, because I don’t want this perfect guy to think badly of me.
“Get out of my face. You shouldn’t be allowed here without a mint in your mouth,” the stranger says and waves his hand in front of his nose. Is… this really happening? Is a man in a fancy suit mocking my cheating ex in his favorite nightclub?