Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Props, you women want to do good things for good reasons,” he began. “But that doesn’t mean you know what you’re doin’ when you do them.”
Mm-hmm.
This announcement made me no less fume-y.
Nope.
It made me more.
A whole lot more.
I tossed my clutch to the dusty-rose velvet covered, semi-structured beanbag chair, crossed my arms on my chest, and returned, “Sorry, except for the last five months with NI&S, where did you get your formal training when you and your Shadow Soldiers were taking on the streets?”
“I got it on the streets,” he shot back. “As in, livin’ on them for most my life.”
He had me there.
“It isn’t like this is my first rodeo,” I retorted. “You knew I had the ear thingy—”
“Ear thingy,” he muttered, like me calling it that proved his point.
I ignored him and carried on. “My guess is, you knew all the girls were there, taking my back. I was in no danger having dinner with a stranger at Oceans 44. Even if I knew beforehand he’s a big jerk.”
Javi appeared to be losing patience, but for the most part (and what was beginning to freak me), he was no longer angry. He didn’t seem much of anything, but he was this like he was trying to be like this.
Like there was a mask he’d put on to hide something from me.
And I hadn’t known him from birth, but since I’d met him, Javi had always been a kind of put-it-all-out-there guy.
But then, still wearing his mask, he put it all out there.
And I would wish to the bottom of my soul he hadn’t.
“Raye, she can take care of herself,” he declared. “Luna, the same. Jessie gets the life because she’s lived it. Not you. Your parents are both doctors. So is your brother. On both sides, your mother and father come from money. You grew up in a six-bedroom house with a pool and a tennis court. You went to Phoenix Country Day. You had a nanny. A woman of my culture lived in your pool house and vacuumed your floors, did your grocery shopping, your laundry and cooked your food. And you walk into uncertain situations wearing shoes you can’t run in. You got no fuckin’ business doin’ that Angel shit, and my guess is, you know it as much as I do.”
It should weird me out he knew so much about me, stuff I’d never told him, but in that moment, I couldn’t get weirded out because I was far too ticked.
“Obviously, since I’m doing it, I know nothing of the sort.”
Suddenly, he was in my space, the tip of his perfect nose brushing mine, and I was so shocked at his quick movement and unexpected nearness, I wasn’t breathing.
“You’re marking time here, Harlow,” he whispered irately. “And I know you know that.”
With his proximity, the scent of him, which was not cologne, it was all about a mountain of hot guy, and all of that doing a number on me, I had no choice but to stammer, “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“You’re slumming,” he declared, his words making what felt like a boulder block my throat. “Probably to prove a point to your parents for whatever stupid-ass reasons you got. You’re gonna hang with your girls while it’s fun. Then, when it’s not, and they all get hooked up, you’re gonna find a doctor or a lawyer or a banker or whatever the fuck and move into your own six-bedroom house with a pool and a tennis court, get a nanny, and a Latina that makes good tamales to cook your family’s dinner.”
He didn’t just say that to me.
I stared into his amber eyes.
But…he did.
And now I understood why there had been no plays, no moves.
I’d been so wrong about those sparks.
Javier Montoya not only didn’t like me.
He didn’t like me.
Having this laid out so brutally for me, I wanted to cry, I really did.
I could flounce with the best, fume even better, but I was heck on wheels crying. I had to unfollow good news accounts on Insta because I couldn’t scroll through stories of kindergartners giving kids with cancer returning to school standing ovations, or firefighters holding cats they saved from fires without losing it every time a heartwarming story came up on my feed.
I didn’t know how I found the strength, but I found the strength not to cry, and instead, in a wavering voice, I said, “You don’t know me.”
“Figure I know you better than you do yourself.”
“And how do you figure that?” I asked, even if I really didn’t want to know.
“I didn’t have money or a nanny or a maid to cushion the shit of life, Harlow. You live what I lived, you learn to read people, and you’re an open book. This Angel shit is a lark for you. It means something to Raye. To Jess. Even to Luna. To you, it’s a story to tell the new friends you’re gonna get about the days when you were single and looking for a thrill.”