Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
I could see it, for that split second — the family she asked me about.
But as soon as it manifested, it was gone, erased in a cloud of reality.
One of her security guards was at the door when I walked her up to it. James. He nodded in greeting, but otherwise pretended like we didn’t exist, his eyes on the perimeter of the house.
“Thank you,” Mia said softly. “For tonight. I… I can’t tell you how much fun I had, how much I needed that.”
“Always here for a good time.” I leaned in, brushing a quick kiss across her cheek. “See you tomorrow, almost fiancée.”
Then, I backed away with a cocky wink I hoped was more convincing than the unsteady beat of my heart.
We Have Tonight
Mia
“I’m drunk.”
I giggle the words for what I’m pretty sure is the twenty-seventh time since we left Owen Marshall’s house party, and Aleks fights back a grin, holding one finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet.
We’re home now — thanks to Aleks being sober. He has rink time in the morning and didn’t want to be hungover, so he didn’t drink at the party tonight. I’m glad he’s sober. I’m glad he drove us.
I’m glad he’s holding me upright so I don’t fall as we stumble through my side yard.
I try not to focus too much on where his hand is locked around my hip as we make our way toward the back deck, but it’s impossible. His hand is so big. His palm is so warm against my skin.
I lean even more into him to the point he’s practically carrying me, inhaling his scent. Why does he always smell so good? Like body wash and boy. Mint and ice and him. Sometimes, I go into his room to write lyrics on his bed while he plays video games just so I can soak up that scent.
“Alright, Strings. Use those legs of yours,” Aleks says on a chuckle when we reach the stairs. He helps me every step of the way up, reminding me again to be quiet before he’s carefully sneaking us in through the sliding glass door.
He checks to make sure the coast is clear before helping me farther inside. Mom and Dad know we went to a party. What they don’t know is that their baby girl is drunk with a capital D right now, and they would not be happy about it. So again, I’m glad Aleks is taking care of me.
He’s always taking care of me.
We stumble down the hallway together — me clinging to him and swaying while he does everything to keep us steady. We bypass his room on the way to mine, and once we’re inside, he releases me to carefully and quietly shut the door behind us.
I flop face down on the bed in a fit of giggles.
“I’m drunk,” I say again, the noise muffled by my comforter.
I hear Aleks sigh behind me before his hands are on my ankles hanging off the bed. With one swift jerk, he rolls me over, and I laugh even more.
“You’re going to get us both in trouble if you don’t be quiet,” he warns in a whisper, then he smacks the outside of my right thigh. “Hush.”
I don’t know why that word makes chills race up my legs.
I don’t know why all the laughter dies in my throat.
I don’t understand the strange and unfamiliar zing of electricity that strikes between my thighs and makes me squeeze them together.
My eyes are wide, lips parted as I lean up on my elbows to watch Aleks. He’s oblivious to me, his focus on where he’s untying my sneakers. He undoes the laces with care before sliding each shoe off my feet, setting the dirty things under my bed quietly.
His hands find my ankles again when he’s standing, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin above my socks.
I think I feel him stiffen a little, too.
I think he feels the weight of the room closing in the same way I do, the way the air is heavier somehow now.
He swallows, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.
He’s so hot.
God, he’s so hot.
He’s wearing a dark green hoodie with our school’s logo on it. Paired with the light wash jeans he has on, the chain around his neck, and his backward hat — he looks like a bad boy. It doesn’t help that his nose is still busted up from a high-sticking on the ice last week.
I feel hot and sweaty staring at him, like I should look away, but I can’t.
He clears his throat, releasing my ankles and crossing the room to my dresser. He opens and shuts drawers until he finds my pajamas, tossing them onto the bed next to me.
“Get some sleep, you little menace,” he says with a smirk.
Before he can take a step toward the door, I grab his wrist.