Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
In love?
No.
Zuri, stop lying to yourself.
I never believed Edwin loved me. Maybe my intellect. Me? No. That psychotic parasite unearthed a part of me that could’ve stayed dead.
But Montana, his uninhibited laughter, and wide shoulders somehow made me feel safe instead of insignificant. He wanted my truth.
Did I wanna go too far with him? Pull a Julia Roberts and cross a line. Hell, he’d paid for more than this freak’em dress and had already given me a brick of cash for this evening. Fifty thousand. As well as another twenty-five thousand for the past week of medical care. That would put a dent in my medical school loans.
Ugh. I couldn’t focus. I shoved those thoughts aside as I sat in a French steakhouse in Beverly Hills. The server’s smile made me glance around to confirm this wasn’t a Colgate commercial.
Paparazzi cameras flashed outside the windows, and Montana leaned back—this was just another day. What did they think? He’d ghosted the limelight after shoving his father. A deadbeat so official he could’ve created a business card. The media didn’t even know Ezekiel existed. I figured any discussion of his father was like asking him to give himself heart surgery. Which was why he hadn’t played up the kids stabbed me while I saved somebody’s baby momma angle.
But if I asked Montana why he didn’t campaign for sympathy cards from his diverse fans, who no doubt had a similar upbringing, he’d want one thing from me.
My last name.
And here I was, thinking of telling him about me again while the server brought us our main entrée. I hid a smirk behind a champagne flute. “This is my first time in Los Angeles, Montana. So, is that a normal portion size?”
Montana glared at three cubes of steak drizzled with sauce.
“I was thinking …” He picked up his fork and tapped a cube. “Should’ve brought Darius. Not sure if he’d eat it or try to stack ‘em like Legos.”
My heart ached, first missing Darius, then remembering how Edwin wasn’t thrilled when I first mentioned my pregnancy.
I’ll squeeze you in on the surgery schedule. This weekend we’ll go—
Nope. No more Edwin. He could rot. I glanced at the Legos again, ahem, steak. One more look, and I was gone. My shoulders shook, tears falling from laughter as I imagined my son’s foolishness with this rich-people food.
Montana forked my salad. “What is this? Louisiana Bald Cypress got bigger leaves.”
“Mon … tana, stop.” I stabbed my hand into my rib.
He popped a leaf in his mouth.
“Hey, I’m hungry.” I gasped. “I’ll wilt more than that salad if you—hey!”
He finished my food in one wolfish bite. “You ain’t eating that.” He swallowed like he’d downed cod liver oil with spoiled milk.
“Why?” My voice went all high and sugary. Hopefully, it didn’t scream, I love you, marry me, and protect my baby and me for the rest of our lives.
Because he’d protected me and gotten stabbed with the knife that I apparently brought to an ass-whooping party.
“Tasted bitter. I like you the way you are. Sweet. Fierce. Full of life.” His eyes darkened a little.
The air shifted. No more clowning over overpriced food. His gaze locked on mine. Cameras flashed through the window, but neither of us broke eye contact.
“Montana—”
“And slowly opening up for me, Zuri.”
That landed. Hard. The seriousness in his tone had my skin tingle with need. Which left me in one position.
I rolled my eyes to cover how wide open I was. Miss Virginia, pray for me. I can’t meet him at my level. His level entices me to my knees.
Later, at his place, Montana handed me a Dodger hoodie that matched his. With daylight savings, we passed on the aviators. Montana opened the passenger door to his Bugatti. I stepped inside. He squatted, took my strappy stiletto in his hand. Since this dress was growing on me, I’d kept it on and tugged the hoodie over my head.
“What are you doing?” I purred the question while he massaged my foot. Also, partially relieved I’d escaped that mansion again. So many rooms. So many opportunities to become Black Julia Roberts. One of the many bathrooms held a similar, modernized oversized tub.
He tugged his Dodger cap lower, and the air nearly snatched from my lungs as I glanced into those deep-set eyes. “Tonight, I’m Big Country.”
“I don’t prefer Big …” I could hardly get the words out because he’d unhooked the strap and kneaded the arch of my foot. “Country. Too … um … sarcastic.”
“You do.”
His thumb attacked that spot. The inner arch, while his other hand rolled my foot, lengthening my ankle so deliciously. “I don’t.”
“Too bad. You can’t see the real LA in a 3X wig.”
Okay, prime example of why I hated Big Country. He commented on the size of my head. Had even said, “Damn, Gina,” once after Darius and I moved in. Can’t think of another word for a temporary stay, but he’d called me that while we watched a movie in the theater room. So rude. I whimpered. “No. You just bought this wig. Mine wasn’t human hair. Put some respect on Di … ahem.” I coughed to cover the fact that I almost mentioned Diana Ross.