Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
"You don't have to do that."
I do, actually. As much as I love any excuse to touch her, she may have to drive the truck someday. She needs to be able to get in safely. I have a feeling she isn't ready to hear that, though, so I don't say it. I just grunt, striding toward the restaurant with her at my side.
As soon as we step through the doors, I feel like a fish in an aquarium. Everybody inside turns to stare at us. Judging by the jolt of excitement whipping through the place and the furious whispering, half of them recognize me.
"Hawkes!" someone shouts. "Yo! That's Sidney Hawkes!"
"Told you to trust me," Hattie says, grinning as we're mobbed by fifteen people with their phones out, all asking for photos and autographs.
I shoot her a dark glare, but she just smiles at me like this is the best day of her life. She tries to slide out of the way when I pose for photos, but I shake my head at her and refuse to let her go. I keep her right beside me the entire time I'm signing crumpled napkins, ensuring she's front and center.
"Enough," I growl at the crowd after a few minutes. "My girl is hungry."
They all step back immediately, making room for us to pass by.
Hattie practically skips to the counter at my side. "See? This is so much better than a fancy restaurant. I get tacos, and you get to make a scene. Win-win."
"The scene was for you, baby," I remind her.
"I know." She peeks up at me. "And we don't even have to wait an hour to eat."
Yeah, there's no way I'm going to be able to let this girl go. No way in hell.
Hattie is like a little kid as we make our way to the private box at the Lyric Opera House after dinner. She's full of tacos, a slushie, and ten thousand questions, and I don't think she's ever been happier. At least until we make it to the box level.
As soon as we step off the stairs, a blonde in a tight blue dress notices us. She looks me up and down like I'm a fucking steak. When she sees my hand linked with Hattie's, her expression turns sour.
"Cute dress," she sneers at my girl.
"Thanks! It has pockets," Hattie says, failing to clock her tone.
"Of course it does." The woman rolls her eyes, her disdain obvious before she looks at me again. "Are you her brother or something?"
Hattie shrinks in on herself before my eyes, her smile slipping, her shoulders curving. She tries to slip her hand from mine, but I hold it firm, refusing to let go.
I glower at the woman who made her shrink, my patience wearing thin. This chick knows damn well that I'm not Hattie's brother. She's just being catty.
"Move," I snap. "Right now."
"Excuse me?"
"I didn't stutter," I growl, slipping my arm around Hattie's waist. "My date and I want through, and you're in our way. Move."
"Your date?" She gapes like I'm speaking a foreign language.
"Yeah, date. As in, the only woman on the planet I'd ever let touch me," I snarl, stepping around her. "Come on, Hattie baby. Our box is up ahead."
Hattie hurries along at my side, not speaking. But every time we pass someone who even looks in our direction, she grows smaller.
I don't fucking like it. At all.
By the time we make it to my family's private box, I'm ready to strangle anyone who even breathes in her direction. Instead, I practically drag Hattie inside before slamming the door closed.
"Look at me, butterfly," I growl.
She avoids my gaze for a long moment before reluctantly peeking up at me.
"Do other women normally treat you that way?"
"I…"
"Don't lie to me."
"Yes," she whispers, swallowing hard.
Fucking hell.
"But it's okay, Sidney," she hurries to say. "I know I don't…fit."
"That's a damn lie." I stalk her across the box, not stopping until I'm in her space and she has nowhere else to go. The pulse in her throat flutters wildly. "You know why they treat you like that?"
"Because I'm—"
"Perfect," I growl before she can say anything else. "They treat you like that because you're perfect, and they can't fucking handle standing in the presence of perfection, knowing they won't ever hope to measure up." I hook my finger beneath her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "They look at you like that because when they see you, they see light, baby. They see joy. They see what they'll never even hope to be."
I've met a thousand women just like the one in the hallway. My sister is a ballerina, and women like that are everywhere in her world. They tear other women down and use claws and venom because claws and venom are all they have to offer.