Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“I took an Uber.” I may have had a few drinks tonight at the club. It was embarrassing when Caleb cut me off. I wasn’t drunk or anything, but he has a habit of being Domhn’s watchdog, even though Domhn doesn’t give a shit anymore. It had me wishing I’d gone to a real bar where they let you drink and grab someone random to fuck, because a few drinks in, I’d changed my mind about wanting dick even if it wasn’t going to get me off.
Instead, I just Ubered here.
“Well, put the rest of your clothes back on and call one to take you home.” Then she puts a finger to her lips. “And not a word about this to Donny.”
My shoulders slump. I’m trying to get back into my brother’s good graces, not keep more secrets from him. Especially when it comes to the most important person in his life. If he ever finds out I’m keeping secrets about Mads sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night for reasons she won’t say, I really will be dead to him. Because he’ll kill me himself.
But I nod my head miserably. Because girl code. And because I see myself in Mads.
This bitch is bananas, too.
“You’re the best, kid.”
She grins and nuzzles the top of my wet hair, then disappears in through the window.
SEVEN
MOIRA
“You fucking bitch!” Jeff screams. “Get back here!”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Now I’m the one climbing out a window. I shake my head at myself. This is what I get for judging Mads. Karma’s a bitch, and apparently, so is Jeff.
I glance back through the window at the bedroom door I so thoughtfully jammed shut with a chair.
Jeff had some real issues grasping the extremely basic concept of no means no.
Yes, we met on an app two hours ago. Yes, I came over for a good time. But guess what, Fuckface McSlappypants? A girl has the right to change her damn mind.
Apparently, Jeff the Fuckhead didn’t agree. And when I tried to leave, he decided to get handsy.
Bad call, buddy.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been slapped that hard. I open my mouth to stretch my jaw, only for pain to blossom across my cheekbone.
“Fuck!”
Yup. Still hurts.
I expressed my displeasure by stabbing him through the hand with a fork.
Helpful tip: always check your surroundings for potential weapons. Jeff was a slob. Leftover plates of food were all over the place. Major ick. There’d been bad vibes since I stepped inside the place, hence my about-face. But it was convenient ’cause the moment he hit me, I grabbed the nearest fork and turned his hand into a kebab.
He screamed like a little bitch.
I bolted.
Thus, kitchen chair under the doorknob to buy myself time.
Classic. Effective. A++ move, Moira.
Cut to my great escape and scrambling down a rusty fire escape outside his apartment. Too bad I was two stories down before my brain very helpfully reminded me that I could’ve just taken the elevator.
At least Fuckhead Jeff only lived three floors up.
A cackling laugh bursts out of my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth while I kick the last ladder down to the street.
Scratch that. Almost down to the street.
I have to drop the last three feet to the pavement and—
“Fuck!”
My ankle twists. But I’m back up and sprinting before my body can fully register the pain.
Finally, I make it to a well-lit street and duck into a pharmacy. Sanctuary. Civilization. Concealer.
The security guard gives me a look, but I keep my head high, shoulders back, and march straight for the sunglasses section.
It’s not my first rodeo.
Have I made some dumb decisions in my life? Yes. Was meeting up with Jeff one of them? Obviously.
Most of the time, it goes fine. Like ninety-three percent of the time.
I’ve just been on edge ever since I woke up to a text from Mads. She and Domhn are going to the club again tonight for Strip Poker. Which means tonight is another chance to fix things.
But also… another chance to fuck everything up.
And if there’s one thing I excel at, it’s fucking things up.
I speed-walk through the overly perfumed aisles to the sunglasses display. I tilt my head, checking the mirror on the twirling rack.
Fuck.
A bruise is already blooming around my eye.
I groan. Goddammit.
But what’s the goddamn point? I root around in my purse for some aspirin and can’t find any. What do I come up with instead? Weed gummies, the magical Delta 9 kind that’s legal here in Texas.
My eye really does fucking hurt. I look around for the security guard, grab a handful of gummies, and stuff them in my mouth. There. That’ll help with the pain and the anxiety.
I yank the biggest pair of sunglasses off the rack and slide them on. They cover most of the bruise. Good enough. Everyone will be wearing extra accessories tonight, right? I’ll leave before things really get started since Domhn’ll be there.