Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 151097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
He was traveling to the city a lot. And when he was home, Ocean was locked away in secret meetings with his father’s capteans. I knew what he was doing and why, but it didn’t make me feel any better because I knew shit was about to get real.
Ocean was preparing for war.
Our wedding was in a week, and his father would be back any day now.
I locked away thoughts of the mysterious Boss of the Fola—who would kill me the moment he discovered I was marrying his son—and slipped from the bedroom.
It was almost midnight, and I didn’t want to be late.
Two weeks ago, Ocean moved Hunter and Coco into the main house, and not a moment too soon, because the lake was permanently frozen now until spring. The first real snow had left the thirty acres of the Kilpatrick’s estate under a thick, white blanket. I could see the cabin from the main house—or at least the parts that weren’t covered under a white blanket—and was glad that Hunter wasn’t trapped inside.
My toes were warm against the heated floors as I tiptoed around the enormous house, but after several wrong turns, I reached my destination a few minutes before the hour turned.
Hunter stood at the kitchen island in her pale pink robe and matching house slippers.
There was a match in her hand.
Her expression was despondent until she heard me arrive. Seeing me, the look faded, and she smiled softly. “I was starting to think you forgot.”
“That would be pretty impressive since this tradition was my idea.”
“Where’s The Strap?”
“He’s sleep—Hunter…”
She smiled conspiratorially, lit the match, and brought the flame to the kindling.
One by one, twenty-six tapers ignited until the small flames danced in the dark, illuminating the blue or maybe purple cream they were embedded in.
“I’m not singing,” she warned, just as she did every year.
I smiled and moved over to the island to stand next to her. “Of course not. Someone might actually think you’re all mushy inside.”
“Happy Birthday, bestie,” Hunter whispered.
“Thank you.” I kept my gaze on the tiered cake as my lips twitched. “Two layers this year. Is this how the other side lives?”
Hunter snorted with a close-lipped smile. “You can thank your future husband for sponsoring the extra batter. We’re fancy now.”
I laughed. “What kind of frosting did you use?”
“Blueberry.” Hunter wrinkled her nose, and I sighed.
“This should be interesting.”
“Any time you want to return to the dark side, just say the word. I can have a juicy, delicious, guilt-free fat-as-fuck cow waiting for you like that.” She snapped her fingers, and it was my turn to snort. “Ooh! It’s midnight!” Hunter said after glancing over her shoulder to check the oven for the time. “Make your wish.”
Instead of blowing out the candles, I thumbed away the white dusting on her cheek. Hunter and the kitchen were a mess of flour, sugar, and frosting.
Every birthday, there was a cake. Always homemade and never store-bought. We didn’t always have money for gifts, so we chose a tradition paid for with love and whatever ingredients we could find around the house. Or steal, in Hunter’s case.
I held her gaze and licked the flour from my thumb without thinking much about it. I didn’t realize how it might be interpreted until Hunter’s lips parted and her pupils dilated. The moment ended abruptly when we heard a door slam somewhere in the house.
Hunter cleared her throat and moved away.
“I almost forgot,” she said while I stared at the countertop. What the hell did I just do? I didn’t blink or breathe until Hunter returned and slammed a bottle of tequila and two mini tumblers down. “Shots!”
I forced a grin and snatched the bottle. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”
“Your candles!” Hunter screeched when she noticed the wax melting into the frosting.
I’d completely forgotten. “Oh, shit. Help me.”
Together, we leaned over and blew out the candles, and then, per tradition, we skipped the formalities of knives, forks, and plates and dug in with our hands.
I was delighted to see she’d gone with a dark chocolate cake.
An hour later, we were smeared in cake and blue frosting and on our way to being drunk. We were sitting on the cold kitchen floor, shoulder to shoulder, and gossiping like we often did in our apartment when it was just us.
“Oh, my God.” I giggled and then hiccupped, which Hunter found hilarious thanks to the tequila. “Remember that guy you dated who wanted you to pretend he was a dog while you screwed him?”
“I try not to,” Hunter said with a groan. “Do you remember the guy you dated who liked to walk around bare assed all the time?”
“The weirdest part was that he kept his shirt and socks on.”
Hunter and I cackled at the memory of Tommy’s peeping pecker. We continued trading dating horror stories until I made the mistake of mentioning Darius. He wasn’t the first of our exes to try to come between Hunter and me, but he was the only one to almost succeed. It hadn’t been while we were dating either.