Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Do you mind if I don’t say?” she murmurs.
Yes, I do mind. “Of course not,” I tell her, trailing my fingers down her body. “I’ve just got a very special question to ask your dad, that’s all.”
Her eyes widen. A smile spreads across her lips. She’s incredibly naïve. I guess that happens when you’ve got a billionaire for a daddy. “Don’t be silly.”
“For his blessing…”
She sits up, trying to pretend she’s mad, but she’s still smiling. “Ethan.”
I’m still getting used to associating that name with myself. My phone vibrates from the bedside table of my two-week-lease apartment. She thinks I’ve lived here for years. It might be them asking for an update.
I move my fingers along her bony spine. She shivers like it’s the most pleasure she’s ever experienced. I’m good at manipulating people, even them. Sure, I agreed to do what they wanted, but maybe I’ll just ride this train for as long as possible. I’ll have to decide. Me. Not Dad. Not dead-eyed Mom. Not my teachers, who never gave a shit.
Me.
“Can I see you soon?” I ask. “I don’t want this to be a casual thing. I’m old-fashioned, Kayla.”
She looks at me over her shoulder. For a second, I almost let that tiny ember of guilt flare into self-hatred. The hope on her face is almost devastating. “Maybe I’ll ask Dad if you can come for dinner or something?”
I smile. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, but I can’t seem too eager. “Only if you’re comfortable with that.”
She gets dressed and heads out to her car. I could follow her, but it’s too risky. If she caught me, the whole game would be over, and I need this. Life is so much more interesting when I’m on the hunt.
I pick up my phone and read the text. Tick-tock…
“Go fuck yourselves,” I mutter.
CHAPTER 8
LUKAS
The next morning, the three of us sit around the table eating scrambled eggs and toast. I’m trying my best not to let the awkwardness override me. It’s so difficult to sit within mere feet of my woman and not touch her. She’s fully dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants like she wants to cover up as much of her body as possible.
“How was the fashion thing?” I ask Kayla, just to break the silence.
Kayla looks up at me sharply. Right away, I know she didn’t go to a fashion show. She’s never been very good at lying to me. That’s the same in the opposite direction, too. At least, it was until I started hungering for her best friend.
“It was…” She puts her fork down and sighs. “Okay, let me just get this out there. Band-Aid—off. I didn’t go to a fashion thing. I saw a boy.”
She sighs heavily, like this has been eating her up. It’s so devasting how much it troubles her to lie to me while I’m lying just by sitting here and pretending I don’t, every single second, want to maul her best friend.
“That’s nothing to panic about,” I tell her, “as long as you are careful.”
“He doesn’t know where we’re staying,” she says, “and he… he’s not some money-digger or anything like that. He’s really nice. His name’s Ethan. He wants to be a poet. He’s so romantic.” She gets a dreamy-eyed look.
“Can I meet this Ethan?” I ask.
No matter what, even if I betrayed her last night, my priority will always be to keep my child safe. Any father feels a certain degree of skepticism upon learning his daughter is dating. Mine is probably more than others since Kayla has had her heart broken a few times.
“I was going to suggest that, actually,” Kayla replies. “He said he’s old-fashioned and wants to meet you, but I’m trying not to rush in too fast. I’ve made that mistake before.”
“That’s very mature,” I tell her.
“I can be mature,” she counters. “You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I lied to you.”
Maci suddenly drops her fork. It clatters loudly against her plate.
Kayla quickly turns her head to her friend. There’s so much concern on my daughter’s face. For a few brief moments, it’s like she thinks Maci will be in danger, and she’s immediately, unquestionably ready to help her, whatever it is. Then, the reality of a dropped fork registers, and Kayla smiles tightly.
“Sorry, is this awkward for you?”
“No,” Maci says, picking up her fork. “Sorry.”
Kayla’s smile turns to confusion. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
I know why Maci looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. It’s the word lied. Kayla is making a big deal about lying to me, which is fair enough. It’s good that dishonesty makes her feel so bad, but it’s also filled with so much irony that it hurts. We’re lying every damn second just by sitting here and not letting Kayla know what we did last night.