Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Tonight is my last night here. At Rawhide.
The Graysons kept their promise after all. They said if I cooperated with their plan, they’d let me go, and they are. I didn’t think it would be so easy. I didn’t think they had it in them, especially Arsen. Not after everything he’s done over the last few months; not after what he did at that cabin weeks ago, how he humiliated my friend, made her do things I witnessed through the window. But then my best friend wouldn’t be in love with him if he didn’t have some redeeming qualities. And she is. Irrevocably, unconditionally, and he is in love with her. That much has been made clear in the last few weeks, given all the things he’s done for her. Things that led to where Reverie is, with him. So I guess I should let go of my grudge against him, for putting my best friend through all the shit, because he makes her happy. Besides, all’s well that ends well, right?
But that’s not the point.
The point is I’ve been here for weeks now, and I kept my promise too. Or rather, followed all the rules that were set for me: I kept my head down and stayed safe. I followed Haven and did what she told me to do, went where she told me to, ate when she told me to, stayed in my room every single night. I have to admit I liked it. As in being with Haven, helping her around the ranch, even riding on the ATV. I didn’t think I would. I hated living at my own ranch, but I guess I simply needed better company. Anyway, I didn’t wander off or put myself in danger, not after that disastrous night at the cabin. And I didn’t go around snooping. Well, much. I did snoop some because I’m not an idiot. Or at least not a total idiot. But this time, I didn’t share my plans with Reverie—she was busy with Arsen anyway, and I didn’t want to burst her happy bubble, or worse, get her in trouble with him—and I was extremely careful not to get caught.
And now I’m leaving. Tomorrow morning I’ll be gone, and so I have to do this before I leave. Technically, this is breaking the rules because I’m not where I’m supposed to be: in bed. But it’s okay because I’m not exactly wandering off. I’m going to his barn.
When I reach his place, I find the big rusted barn door ajar and the yellow light slicing through the opening. It’s like a beacon in the thick dark of the woods, guiding me the last few feet. I stand at the door, clutching my dress with nerves and trying to pace my overexcited heart. I’m still not sure how he manages to inspire both fear and excitement in me in the same breath, but I’ll chalk it up to this crazy connection we have.
I take a few seconds to myself before I peek through the door. Just like last time, the upper level of his space is dark, while the lower is lit up with that lantern hanging on the wooden pole. His walls are busy with various things, including the rope display, and I can see the steel table with his tattoo paraphernalia shining through the space. But there are differences from when I was here the last time. The wooden pole with the lantern also has his black Stetson hanging on it, and I see his leather boots, dirt-caked and large, resting by it.
And of course, the space isn’t empty because he’s here.
He’s at the far end, by his bed, with his back to me, and he has a sleeveless white undershirt on over his usual washed-out jeans. It’s important to mention that because for the first time ever, I can see his bare arms. I can see the globes of his shoulders and the rippling muscles of his back, and I don’t think he’s ever looked bigger or more muscular than he does in this moment. He doesn’t even have to flex for those hills on his biceps to form; they’re already there, pulsing and powerful. So tanned. They shine in the yellow light, his skin all smooth.
My eyes glide down from his fanned-out shoulders to the tapering line of his waist, and with only a tight undershirt on, the difference in the breadth is stark. That’s not to say his waist is any less muscular; it’s simply sculpted differently. Plus, his butt. For some reason, I hadn’t noticed how muscular it is, how rounded and how his jeans hug the shape of it. Every inch of his body is so beautiful and perfect, and I commit it to memory. Because this is the last time I’ll ever see it. This is the last time I’ll ever see my Phantom.