Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Hi,” I responded carefully.
“You must be new,” she purred. “I’m Shay.”
New what? New here? New girl? New problem? “I’m IvaLeigh,” I answered, because that was all I had.
Her gaze skipped past me to where Gonzo stood five feet away, talking to Tower. An almost-smile tugged her mouth. “He brought you to a party. That’s cute.”
Something prickled at the back of my neck. “Cute,” I echoed, flat. What was she setting me up for?
“Has he told you?” she asked, tilting her head in Gonzo’s direction. Her perfume was thick enough to taste—jasmine and sugar. “About how he is?”
“He’s told me plenty,” I muttered, feeling myself step onto a trap I couldn’t stop from falling into.
Shay’s smile widened. “Mmm. He’s intense. You don’t strike me as…” She paused. “Skilled.” Her voice went lower. “Rough, if you want it.”
Heat flashed through my face so fast it hurt. “That sounds like you’re trying to tell me something.”
She leaned in like we were sharing a secret. “I’m saying I’ve had him. More than once.” Her manicured nail tapped the bar between us in a rhythm that made me want to break it. “And he always finds a new one, sooner or later.”
The room was too loud for anyone to have heard her, and yet the words hung like a neon sign only I could see. I knew I didn’t own Gonzo. I knew I had no claim. I knew this was a world where bodies and histories wrapped into one another. I had watched a woman draw the word nasty on her man’s abdomen with a marker and nobody blinked.
I had no right to feel what I felt. Except I couldn’t help it. Jealousy shot up my spine in a clean, white line. “Thanks for the tip,” I managed, amazed my voice worked.
Shay smiled tighter. “You’re welcome. It’s good to know the terrain when you’re a tourist.”
Something ugly and hot clawed its way out of my chest. I didn’t think. My hand moved before the rest of me did.
The slap cracked across her cheek like a gunshot. Heads turned. Talk paused and then tumbled on. Shay’s eyes blew wide, fingers flying to her face. For half a heartbeat I thought she might pounce. For half a heartbeat, I wanted her to, just so I could do something with the storm inside me. I didn’t wait to find out if she would react.
I put the beer down too hard—the bottle clinked off the bar and sloshed—and I walked. No, I stomped. Then I ran.
The door sucked the sound out behind me. Cool night air slapped my cheeks. The lot spread in blacktop and chrome and spilled light. Engines pinged as they cooled. I folded at the waist with my hands on my knees and dragged for breath like I’d just outrun a siren.
What are you doing? The question felt like it came from far away and also from the center of my skull.
This wasn’t me. I didn’t slap people. I didn’t start fights with beautiful women in painted-on dresses over men who warned me right up front that they weren’t safe places to lay my head. I didn’t belong in there. I didn’t belong anywhere, either.
The door banged. Boots hit asphalt. I didn’t have to look to know. He moved like thunder. I wasn’t sure what to expect.
“Hey,” Gonzo said, and his hand wrapped gently around my elbow. “Stop. Stand up.”
I straightened because he asked. Not because he held me—he wasn’t embracing me. His touch was light, a question.
“What the hell was that?” His voice was low, not angry. Not yet. Concern, layered with steel.
“I lost my mind,” I sputtered out, and laughed a little then, stupid, breathless. “I—this isn’t who I am.”
He looked at me like he could read the things I didn’t say. Stared long enough that the night fell away and there was just the space between us and the sound of my heart as it calmed.
“Then who are you, IvaLeigh?” he asked.
The answer should’ve been easy. I’m the girl who studies. I’m the girl who pays her bills on time. I’m the girl who doesn’t get jealous, who doesn’t make scenes, who doesn’t chase men who smell like smoke and road all cloaked in danger. But the words didn’t fit anymore. They slid off like a shirt that had shrunk in the wash.
“I don’t know,” I said, honest for once. It scared me, how true it felt. “I don’t know.”
He nodded like that was the right answer. Like uncertainty was a place to stand, not a cliff to fall from. His hand rose and brushed my cheekbone with his knuckles, rough and careful. His thumb came away with a smear of lipstick that wasn’t mine—I didn’t wear any tonight. My stomach flipped when I realized it was the red from the girl I slapped.