Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“She gave you a washing machine?” I ask in disbelief. I never expect these types of responses from him. I thought all Hawke did was fuck, party, kill, and lift weights.
“Yep. Our first Christmas together, she asked what we wanted. Ford remained quiet, and I blurted out, I wanted a washing machine. Trust me, when you live in the same clothes for weeks on end, you want one.” A cheesy smile spreads on his face. “I just didn’t think she’d buy me another one when I moved out and bought this place when I was eighteen.”
It’s crazy to think how quickly they turned their lives around. Sure, the twins had had help from Anya, but they honed their skills enough to impress Eli and ended up working for him. I grew up around those guys and know they’re as ruthless as they come. Maybe I’m desensitized to it all because I’m not scared of them. Never have been and never will. But that’s a luxury I know only a few have.
I don’t comment on his living situation because I can’t relate, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have empathy for everything he’s been through. I was raised by two loving parents who literally showed me the world. We are different in a lot of ways, but at the same time, we’re somehow alike.
“Have you traveled much?” I ask. Hawke has a social media account, but he rarely posts anything. And the number of women who follow him anyway is mind-boggling. Most likely, they’re just sliding into his DMs. But I’ve never heard about him traveling.
“Nope. I think I have a passport somewhere. I’ve just never had the urge to since I’m by Eli’s side all the time,” he says, closing his eyes once again. “But you love to visit other places, don’t you?”
Grabbing the crackers, I put one in my mouth, chew it up, then swallow it before I say, “It’s my favorite thing in the world.”
“Maybe we’ll go somewhere together one of these days, and you can show me around,” he says through a yawn. I turn to face him, place the second cracker in my mouth, and see he’s already fallen asleep. I soften toward him a little more. I’ve heard about how heavy a sleeper he is, but it looks like he hasn’t slept in months.
I think back on our conversation last night. I wonder if this has anything to do with his outburst on not hurting women. There’s something vulnerable about Hawke that I’ve never noticed before. Despite his size, I’m reminded that he was once a little boy. Actually, it’s clear as day that that little boy is still in there somewhere because he still acts like a big guy. It’s part of his personality that often drives everyone insane.
I quietly climb out of his bed, hoping not to wake him. I head downstairs to the kitchen, still wearing one of his shirts that comes to my knees. I like Hawke’s home; it’s flashy, sizeable, and far too large for him to live in alone, especially compared to his brother’s modestly-sized home. I wonder if that’s because he never had this as a kid. But I can’t help thinking about how lonely it must be living in a five-bedroom home without anyone else.
Maybe that’s why he’s always partying. I don’t think he likes to be alone.
When I pull open the fridge door, I’m not surprised by how stocked it is. I try not to laugh. It couldn’t scream “bachelor” any louder even if he tried. It’s full of various meat, eggs, and protein drinks. Protein. Protein. Protein.
I don’t expect anything less from a man who loves to eat as much as he does, and it takes a hell of a lot of food to maintain a body that big, I imagine. I settle on making a sandwich since he has bread in the fridge, which, okay, is kind of weird. But it’ll do. I grab some meat and settle for that since he literally has no greens for a salad.
I make two sandwiches, one for myself and one for him, because he never turns down food. I take a peek into his personal gym before going back upstairs. I’ve seen all of this through his cameras, but being here. Seeing it all in person is different. It smells like him. Feels like him.
One of his eyelids peels open the moment I step back into the room. I’m certain it has less to do with my presence and more to do with the instinctual knowing that food is within his vicinity.
“You don’t have any salad,” I say, handing him the plate.
He curls up his nose. “You don’t make friends with salad.”
I shake my head as I take a seat beside him. It feels strange not having the sexual energy between us. Just simply being. Sex is the last thing on my mind right now as terror grips my lower stomach at the thought of what might’ve happened that night at the party. I side-eye Hawke, once again feeling a rush of gratitude for my unlikely hero.