Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
A year ago, the early tour cancellation would’ve just fucking devastated me. I know I hurt people. I’ve seen Twitter. Fans called me an asshole, a heartless human being, a stuck-up celebrity pretending to be humble. That I only wanted the praise. And I don’t really care about you.
I’m done.
I’m done trying to prove anything to anyone. Even you. I am who I fucking am, and the truth will always be that I wish I could’ve done more. But I’m finally satisfied with the fact that I’ve given all that I can. Even if you can’t see it or refuse to believe it.
Now I need to be home.
With all the people who love me unconditionally.
My family and security zip in and out of the townhouse, carrying cardboard boxes, plastic tubs and clothes on hangers. Alpha blocked paparazzi off the street. So it’s been a pretty easy move-in day.
Dear World, don’t jinx me. Sincerely, an unlucky human.
Jesus.
Christ.
I rush down the stairs. “Luna, watch out!”
Dear World, you suck.
Worst regards.
My skateboard rolls out from under the loveseat. Luna cradles four lava lamps and steps on the board. Tripping forward.
I sprint, and the skateboard bangs into the coffee table.
Luna starts tumbling, about to face-plant, and I snag her arm before she goes down. And I hold her upright. She hot-potatoes a lamp, and catches it by the cord.
That was fucking close. I take her lamps.
“Bad start, the usual,” Luna breathes and crouches to pet Lady Macbeth. “I warned you I’d be a shitty roommate, right?”
I untangle the lamps. “And I reminded you that we used to be roommates for thirteen years.”
Farrow isn’t here to voice the technicality, but technically, we’ve never shared a room before. It’s not like we’ll be sharing a room now either. She’s moving into the guest room, her own small space.
Luna rises as the black cat scampers away. “That’s different. We were kids back then.”
I smile. “Yeah, and now you’re a high school graduate with a diploma and everything…” I trail off at her smile that she can’t contain. Luna finished her last homeschool exam yesterday.
Luna shimmies her shoulders. “It’s pretty cool, huh?”
“Really fucking cool.” A few cousins pass us with boxes, and we edge near the fireplace. Staying out of the way.
I stare at my little sister and memories surface of us being just kids. I must’ve been five or six, and I’d constantly ask my mom if I could push Luna’s stroller. Wanting to help out. I buckled her into a car seat and held her hand while we crossed the street. We’d play-fight with plastic lightsabers in Superheroes & Scones and swap comics.
Now she’s eighteen.
I’m no longer holding her hand across the street. But she could’ve gone anywhere after graduating. And I’m highly aware that out of the entire world, she chose to be here with me.
I didn’t even hesitate to say yes. “Don’t worry about any of this stuff.” I gesture to the frilly pillows, the skateboard, the coat rack with Jane’s many bright-colored rain jackets. “This house is yours now, too. I want it to feel like your home.”
She looks at the family photos on the mantel. “It kind of already does.”
I smile, and as security trickles inside, I leave to the guest room and drop off her lava lamps. Kinney and Xander are unpacking her sci-fi books and stacking them on a shelf.
Trip number five, I descend the staircase again. This time, Farrow walks in from the adjoining door to security’s townhouse.
Casually, he kicks back on the door, an open jar of peanut butter under his arm, and he unpeels a banana.
I hone in on his fingers that move precisely, assuredly. That shouldn’t be that goddamn hot.
My blood heats, and his lips quirk—he’s not even looking at me or even in my direction. How the fuck he can see me is superhuman. And strange.
But hot.
I almost groan at myself as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I could detour and go grab another box from the SUV, but my feet are already moving. Towards him.
Big shocker.
I pull out a folded paper from my back pocket.
“What’s that?” Farrow asks, motioning to the paper. Coolly, he squats down to my ankles.
I watch him, my curiosity piquing. “A list.” It’s more than a list, but he is a walking, talking distraction that my brain subconsciously…and consciously loves.
“A list,” Farrow repeats and lifts the leg of my jeans, revealing my bare shin and a sheathed knife.
I cross my arms, our eyes glued together while he unsheathes my knife. Fuck me.
Farrow smiles and rises, one inch taller. “He’s still trying to turn me into a follower.” Before I can respond, he says, “Let me guess what your list doesn’t say. Number one: I’m in love with Farrow Keene. Number two: he’s always right.”
“How’d you know?” I ask sarcastically.
Farrow dips my knife in peanut butter and then slices the banana. He eats the piece directly off the blade and licks the peanut butter off the tip.