Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Delilah sighed, shaking her head. “It’s hard for some people to put their trust in others. Even when they secretly want to.”
“Are you talking about Saint?” I teased.
Her lips curled. “No. About myself. I resisted giving in to Macon tooth and nail. Because I was afraid of opening up to anyone, let alone someone who could truly hurt me if he wanted to.”
“It’s probably for the best in my case.” A pain along my chest had me reaching up to rub it, but I resisted and let my hand fall to my lap. “I clearly make terrible decisions when it comes to love. Before Greg, there was Adam—a total fuckwit—who didn’t cheat but constantly belittled. Then there was Eric, a pompous dickbag who probably cheated but I never caught.” My nose wrinkled. “The best I can say is that none of them gave me any STIs, and I’m probably better off on my own.”
She chuckled and tipped back her glass to drain it, then set it on the table with a decisive click. “Being hopeful isn’t bad decision-making. We give up hope, what’s left?”
“Our vibrators.”
We both laughed at that. And then she grabbed my hand. “I’m going to miss seeing you on set.” Unaware of how deeply it cut to talk about it, probably because she was happily buzzed, Delilah smiled. “They were idiots to let you go.”
My smile died. “Thank you. I’ll miss you too.”
“Don’t tell anyone, but Macon is leaving the show.”
“What?” I leaned in so we were close enough to speak in hushed tones. “Why?”
She shrugged. “He doesn’t want to be typecast. Wants to move on to other things.”
“Believe me—I empathize.”
“Which is why this cut might hurt, but it will heal, and you’ll be stronger.”
“Yes,” I said, not quite feeling it but wanting to. “I will.”
A deep voice cut into our private conversation bubble. “What are you two whispering about?” Saint ambled up and smiled down at Delilah with deep affection.
She smirked at him. “If we wanted you to know, we wouldn’t have been whispering.”
He took that in stride and swooped down to kiss her. When he pulled back, she was flushed and grinning. “Love that sassy mouth, Tot.”
Delilah’s gaze grew hazy. “Take me to bed, hotshot.”
“Or lose you forever?”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t keep from smiling too. “If you two are going to quote Top Gun, do it in the privacy of your own room.”
Saint glanced at me and winked. “Good point. You mind if I steal my bride away, Em?”
“By all means. Steal, pillage, quote cheesy old movies to your hearts’ content.”
He chuckled and, with impressive grace, gathered Delilah in his arms.
She yelped but held on around his neck. “Beast.”
“That’s me.” He nodded my way. “Night, Emma. Thanks for being here tonight.”
“Thank you for inviting me. I’m so happy for you two. Now get out of my face before I gag on all the love.”
Laughing, Saint walked off, and Dee waved bye over his shoulder. I waved back, smiling wide, but on the inside, my chest felt tight and cold. I envied her. Them. With a smallness that shocked me. I wanted love. I wanted affection and comfort. I wanted to know where my place was in the world and to know that I came first to someone.
What I needed to do was get my life in order. And that wasn’t going to happen mooning over some man. But as I sat alone at a table, Lucian nowhere to be seen and my former castmates laughing and chatting it up in small groups, an overwhelming sense of depression filled me. Despite these current setbacks, I had a life others envied. I had my health, and I had friends. Yet I still felt utterly alone. And I had no idea how to fix that.
Lucian
I found her by the cliffs overlooking the sea. Rosemont was far enough up in the hills that the Pacific was a distant glimmer of blue. Here, it crashed violently against the shore, sending up mist and the scent of brine.
When I’d last seen Emma, she’d been surrounded by coworkers talking about their best moments on set. Then North, who was a stunt coordinator, and a couple of guys whose names I’d soon forgotten had pulled me away to talk hockey. It had been surprisingly pain-free to discuss the sport I’d loved and lost. Maybe because we’d discussed everything but me. But Emma had seemed happy, laughing in that glowing way of hers.
She didn’t look happy now.
Illuminated only by the lights of the house and soft glowing lamps flickering in the twilight, she appeared ephemeral and small. I strolled closer, not wanting to startle. Something about the way she stood, as if she was struggling to hold herself up, made my chest clench. I hadn’t thrown a punch in years, but for her, I’d fight the world.