Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Whatever.
He’s wiping down his shirt, completely unfazed, which bothers me even more.
Now? He wants to turn up now? And here, of all places? The asshole has some balls coming to one of my events uninvited… and entirely unwelcome. Though, I can’t help but quickly sweep an appreciative gaze over his attire. He’s dressed way nicer than usual. I’m used to seeing him in black slacks and a black button-up shirt. Not that he doesn’t have black slacks on right now, but in place of the dress shirt is an undershirt with a long trench coat over the top of it. He takes the coat off, shaking his head at the mess, then hands it to an attendant who’s hovering nearby.
He must have just arrived. Did he spot me from the door and just head straight for me?
I take a sip of the champagne, the tension palpable between us. So many fucking things I want to say to him, and yet… I just want to rip his fucking clothes off. The thought of going to the coat closet pops into my mind, and I must be out of my fucking head to even consider that with this man.
Braxton’s expression is smug like he’s won or is right about something.
“What?” I bite. It’s then I realize I’m rapidly tapping my foot. I force myself to stop. Fuck. I don’t want him reading anything from body language.
“You look ravishing as always, Shortcake,” he says and steps closer, basically caging me against the bar. He looks down at the glass in my hand and then back at me. “Do you plan to drink that this time?” I don’t bother asking him how he knows I don’t always drink it.
It’s obvious that I’ve taken two sips since he’s stepped into my vicinity, so with a bit of snark in my tone, I say, “I gave up on drinking; seems I do stupid shit when I do.”
“Yes, I guess stealing police officers’ wallets would make me want to quit drinking, too,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you were drinking when our cars had that damaging kiss.”
“I’d say it was more like mine forcefully shoving up the ass of yours, which couldn’t take it.”
His smile grows. “I missed that poisonous tongue of yours, Shortcake.”
My stomach drops, and I hate that my body is so responsive to him. The hot flush that immediately washes over me, and my body demands to rip apart this man to show him well and truly how much I fucking hate him.
“Are you stalking me again?” I ask at the same time someone says, “Braxton, you came.”
I turn to find Kylie, her face glowing as she leans in and kisses Braxton on the cheek. He side-eyes me as she does it, and I give him no reaction. Eww. My mother, unfortunately, saw it. She moves around Kylie and Braxton to stand by my side.
The moment Kylie steps away from Braxton—you could make the argument that he somewhat pushed her away—my mother cuts in, and I’m reminded that my father isn’t the only parent to be wary of.
“Hi, I’m Lena Love, Hope’s mother. And you are?” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I watch with growing satisfaction as the realization of who her idol really is clicks in Kylie’s mind. She must’ve been talking so much about herself that she never questioned how my mother and I are associated.
Braxton, on the other hand, knows exactly who she is. He offers her his hand, and they shake firmly as she studies him. I always wondered how someone so soft and sweet could handle someone as cruel as my father. But as she holds Braxton’s hand, I see the fire behind her eyes. It’s moments like these that I know she probably gave my father hell as he pursued her.
“Y-you’re related to Hope?” Kylie stammers and it breaks the awkward moment, reminding us that she exists.
“Yes, she is,” I confirm, smiling. “Besties.” I cross my fingers over one another, being an asshole.
My mother drops Braxton’s hand and seems completely oblivious to Kylie’s reaction. No, she’s fixated on Braxton, uncomfortably so, as if she already knows the things that have happened between us. “Braxton, how do you know my daughter?”
“You know Hope, too?” Kylie asks Braxton, and I can tell she’s really trying to keep her shit together right now. By how friendly she is with Braxton, they’ve either fucked or are fucking. Or she wants that to be a reality. Now I just feel bad.
“I do,” he answers, watching Kylie. “Although we’re only acquaintances.”
“‘Acquaintances’ is a bit of a stretch,” I bite back.
“Shall I tell them the story of how we met?” He raises a brow at me.
I pin him with a glare, and my mother reaches out and squeezes my hand. “If you’ll excuse us, I have to speak to my daughter.”