Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
What the hell was going on? I yawned and pulled on the sleep shorts I’d peeled off last night too, sliding them up my legs at the top of the stairs before I ran down as fast as possible. Amos wasn’t a dramatic kid. We’d spent so much time together over the last month, I would have picked up on it. If anything, he was sensitive and shy, even though he was coming out of his bubble around me more and more every day.
At least one of the Rhodes men was.
Unlocking then pulling open the door, I was already squinting at him.
Still in his pajamas—a wrinkled T-shirt from the town’s high school and basketball shorts I’d bet he’d inherited from Mr. Rhodes—he stared back at me. There was a drool stain on his cheek, and even his eyelashes looked a little crusty . . . But the rest of him was wide awake. Alarmed even.
Why did he look freaked out?
“What happened?” I asked, trying not to worry.
He grabbed my hand, which should have been a sign because he tolerated me on the rare occasions I hugged him but had never initiated one himself, and started pulling me forward, out the door.
“Hold on,” I said, stopping to slip on my boots halfway and shuffling after him. “What’s going on?”
The kid didn’t even glance at me as he kept on leading me toward his house. “Your . . . your friend is at my house,” he basically gasped.
“My friend?” What friend? Clara?
That was when he glanced over, his expression damn near distraught. “Yeah, your friend.” His throat bobbed. “You said some things, but I didn’t really believe you.”
“That’s rude,” I yawned, not knowing what the hell he was talking about but going along with it.
Amos ignored me. “But she’s inside. She was banging on the door and calling your name—and she doesn’t have her wig on, but it’s her.”
Wig?
I clomped up the stairs behind him, way too tired to really use my brain yet. One of my boots fell off, and I had to tap his hand to get him to stop so I could put it back on.
“She said she’s making us all breakfast, so I ran over here to get you.” He kept on rambling a mile a minute, talking faster than ever. More than ever too. He pushed the door open and kept on tugging me after him. “Can I tell Jackie? Dad said she could come over for two hours, remember? She’s gonna cry.”
“I stayed up last night finishing a book, Am. Who is over here? Clara? Why would Jackie cry?”
He led me straight into the living room before suddenly stopping.
“It’s her,” he whispered, not sounding very reverent but more like . . . surprised out of his mind.
I narrowed my eyes toward the kitchen with yet another yawn and spotted the jet-black hair and slim body standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a glass bowl.
I couldn’t clearly see the woman’s features, but all it took was an “Ora!” for me to know who she was.
An eight-time Grammy winner.
One of my best friends in the whole world.
One of my favorite people in the whole world.
And one of the absolute last people I would’ve ever imagined seeing in Mr. Rhodes’s house.
“Yuki?” I asked anyway.
I was pretty sure she set down the bowl before rushing over and throwing her arms around me, hugging the shit out of me so hard I couldn’t breathe. Still in shock, I hugged her back just as tight.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her in an exhale I was careful to let out above her head since I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet.
She hugged me even tighter. “I had the day off, and right after my show last night, I decided to come and see you. I tried calling but it went straight to voice mail. I’ve missed you so much, cutie pie.” Yuki pulled back just a little. “Is this okay? I remember you said you had this Sunday off.” Before I could say another word, she went on. “I can leave early if you need me to.”
I rolled my eyes and hugged her again. “Yes, it’s okay. I have plans but—”
“We can do whatever you need to do!” she offered, pulling back, giving me a rare view of her makeup-less and wigless upper body. Yuki Young, the person I loved and who had painted my nails once a week when I’d stayed with her at her twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion in Nashville.
Looking at her, only a massive fan would recognize her. And it was really, really rare. We could go out in public all the time . . . with her bodyguard that looked more like a boyfriend.
“I wasn’t really going to give you the chance to choose otherwise, Yu.” I laughed, feeling so tired but so happy to see her.