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)
“Damn, Hope, you’re not wanting to remember tonight, are you?” Billie says from her seat next to me. She takes a shot glass. However, I was never concerned about keeping up.
Ford sits beside her, his arm around the back of her chair as he sucks on a lollipop and scrolls through his phone. He ignores the shot, like always.
For once, Hawke doesn’t have a harem with him. He’s just joined Dutton on the dance floor, and it looks like he’s giving him shit for being stiff as a board and looking no better than security. But there’s no fucking way he’s letting anyone come near his new wife. Everyone walks a wide circle around them like there’s an invisible wall around them.
Billie, Jewel, and I clink our shot glasses together and throw back the alcohol. It burns my throat, and I suck on the lime afterward, feeling buzzed and refreshed.
This week has been a difficult one for me. International travel, stress levels spiking, and my mind drifting to a particular asshole who I’m trying my best to forget. I’ve also started organizing a plan of attack that Hawke came up with. One that I can manage on my own without his or Ford’s help.
But tonight, I want to get fucked up. I’m twenty-two and shouldn’t have a care in the world. So, I decided to use this as an excuse to celebrate dropping out of college. Everyone seemed confused by it, but since I don’t host many celebrations, they all made time.
“Come on.” I grab Billie’s and Jewel’s hands and drag them into the sea of people on the dance floor. I’m not one to usually enjoy dancing, but tonight, I just don’t want to be myself. I want to move in ways that I haven’t before. I let Ivy dress me in leather pants and a leather crop top. My hair is down and curled, and I’ve replaced my glasses with purple-tinted contacts.
I don’t give a fuck tonight.
Ivy scoops me up from behind, her hands on me as she accentuates my curves, and we dance. I close my eyes, awkwardly embracing the beat that I’m always certain my hips sway to a second too slowly. But I don’t care. I’m sick of caring. I just want to feel alive again.
“Damn, little red, you’re really letting yourself go tonight,” Hawke notes approvingly. And within the same breath, he literally snarls at a guy who dares glance in our direction.
“Oh, come on, Hawke,” Ivy teases. “Stop treating us like children. We can look after ourselves.” She raises her hands in the air and dances like a sexual goddess. I’ve always admired this part of Ivy. How she freely lives in a way that appears she’s tapped into a flow that no one else can see.
“It’s not you I’m worried about. I wonder if Alek would be your father’s best friend if he knew what a bad influence you were on his daughter,” Hawke grits back.
All of us girls laugh because it’s the most hypocritical thing Hawke could say. A tray is brought to us with more shot glasses, and Ivy makes a point to give one to Hawke first with a pout. “Come now, Hawke. You and I both know what our girl here needs is a little fun. We can’t be nothing but work, right?”
She looks pointedly at Dutton, who doesn’t reply. Everyone is laughing as we clink glasses and drink the shots. We’re all so different, and yet we just work. I know everyone in this group, including Eli and Ford, who are watching from the private booth will have my back no matter what. So why do I feel the need for something more? Why do I give a flying fuck about a connection I can’t place a title on with a certain detective who drives me insane? It doesn’t make any sense.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I shout over the music, and Ivy skips to my side. “I can pee by myself, you know.” I laugh, but she doesn’t seem to care.
“Girls should always go to the bathroom together. You never know who—” A man barges past her, shooting her an annoyed look. “Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole!”
He sneers, and I wonder if the idiot has any fucking idea whose club he’s in because if he did, he wouldn’t disrespect her so openly. “Shut up, skank, nobody cares.”
“What did you just call me?” Ivy goes to grab him by his hair, but I pull her back and shake my head. Although I’m certain Ivy can tear a man to shreds, just like Billie, Posie, and me, she’s not labeled as a killer in our group.
“No. Fuck that guy. Men like that shouldn’t even exist. It drives me insane.” She curses, infuriated. I keep my gaze trained on the man to make sure he’s leaving. I’m certain I’ve seen him before. I think he was in one of the classes that I guest lectured for a few months ago. Green mohawks are distinctive and hard to forget. If memory serves correctly, Charlotte said he made a pass at her and that he made her really uncomfortable. I can understand why; the guy gives off a menacing aura.