Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
My heart skips a beat, and a smile curves one corner of my mouth. He’s so freaking cute, I can hardly stand it. “So, we’re together?”
“Yeah,” he says simply, no reluctance at all. “We’re together.”
I’m quiet for a moment, mulling it over. I usually tell June everything, and her, me. Though, when she first got together with my brother, I definitely wasn’t at the top of the list for shared information. I’ve earned a little bit of privacy on this—especially given how quickly I got over my anger when I found out about them.
Truly demure of me.
Henry’s track record with relationships is even worse than mine, but holding him to that standard would be just as bad as holding me to mine, and given how much I forgot my last boyfriend existed, I don’t think I’d like that.
I have to give this a chance, and yet…it’d be the worst kind of experience to go all in with Henry and then for him to decide he doesn’t want to be with me.
Where would that leave me? He’s Beau’s best friend.
And if we tell everyone we’re together, what if it didn’t work out?
I need a compromise. At least for now. “Okay, we’re together, but I think…just for a little while…we should keep it between us.”
Henry raises an eyebrow. “So, we’re together, but in secret?”
I shrug, wanting it to sound a little less clandestine. “Not secret. But…just a little more of our island bubble, but off the island, you know? I want the chance to get to know you, on my own, without you sticking your dick in other women and without my family and our friends making it the biggest deal, like you and I both know they will. Neither of us has committed before. They’re going to have a whole freaking circus act to say about it.”
Henry’s laugh fills the otherwise quiet room. “You have nothing to worry about, Avery.” He pulls me into his arms, his lips brushing against mine. “I understand your hesitancy, and I’m willing to play along. But just so you know, I’m all yours, bubble or not.”
He kisses me again, slow and deep, and I melt against him.
I’m all yours, bubble or not. Oh boy. I probably like the sound of that way too much.
January 16th
Henry
The office hums with energy as I step through the glass doors of Adrenaline Junkie four days after getting home, my face still bearded and my stride undeniably different.
The open floor plan is alive with chatter, phones are ringing, and the occasional burst of laughter from one of the creative teams reminds me of what a fun environment I’ve managed to build with my own blood, sweat, and tears. It’s good to be back. Truly.
But I’d be lying if I said my whole point of view isn’t directed through an entirely different lens. Prior to all this shit, I saw Adrenaline Junkie as a freedom-seeking, good-time-having company. We were about the thrill and the chase, but I know now, with renewed energy and a new vision, we could be so much more.
A tool for survival. A center for learning and preparedness. A partner in both good and bad and for every situation in between.
On my way in, I had to bypass a small army of journalists and paparazzi camped outside the building, waiting for my arrival. In reality, they’re a large part of why I’m still sporting the beard. It’s a camouflage or a shield of sorts, and a comfort when I start to think I’m emotionally overreacting to what we went through. That didn’t stop their cameras, though. They flashed like fireworks, questions being shouted at me from every angle.
“Henry, can you tell us about the island?”
“What was it like surviving for thirteen days?”
“Did you think you were going to die?”
I’m hoping all the fanfare will end soon, but I’m not naïve enough to think it’ll be instantaneous. The headline is too good, the sensationalism too powerful.
By the time I make it to my office in the back corner of the building, I’ve been stopped and flagged by every employee, slapped on the shoulder at least twenty times, and pulled into a hug by at least five people I wasn’t expecting. It’s overwhelming, if touching, and when I close the glass door, my skin itches with discomfort.
It’s not the attention in general I don’t like—but the attention and scrutiny on this particular set of life-changing weeks with a woman I’m now dating without anyone knowing that I could do without. The glass walls of my office don’t offer much privacy, but at least I can shut the door and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a little while.
Unfortunately for me, Cara, my assistant, is already hot on my heels, striding into my office behind me with a stack of folders in one hand and her tablet in the other.