Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
He’s always pushing himself to be better, always showing up for his family and friends. The only thing he’s missing . . . is someone to love him unconditionally—someone who’ll never be me.
I groan, my good mood suddenly plummeting.
I’ll never get to stand at his side, never get to feel his touch on my body, his lips on mine. The night I shared with that perfect stranger is a night I will never get to have with Izaac, no matter how many times I pretend it was his face on the stranger’s ripped body.
With the realization that the night I just shared in that dark room is a night I will never get to experience again, I let out a heavy sigh. Hell, the only way I’ll ever experience something so intense is if I were to go back, but then, who am I supposed to ask for? Despite his invitation to return, I know nothing about him.
A heaviness presses down on my chest, and I yank my blanket up over my head, more than ready to wallow in a pit of self-inflicted misery when my phone screeches to life on my bedside table. I groan, letting out a heavy breath as I throw the blanket back and scramble for my phone before I miss the call.
It’s probably Becs checking in and making sure I don’t regret anything that went down last night, and I don’t. My only regrets are that I won’t get to do it again and that the memory of the man who I happily gave my virginity to is nothing but a faceless figure locked away in my imagination. If I saw him on the street, I’d never know it was him.
Scooping up my phone, my brows furrow, finding my brother’s name flashing across the screen. That’s odd. He never calls me this early.
“Whatdoyawant?” I rumble through a yawn as I scooch back in my bed and flop against my pillow.
“You on your way? You’re late.”
I fly up into a sitting position, probably looking like one of those possessed characters from a scary movie. “Huh? What are you talking about?” I ask, pulling my phone away to look at the time on the screen. “I have ages. It’s only—OH FUCK!”
Shooting out of bed, I barge through my apartment in a mad rush to get to the bathroom, trying to strip off my clothes as I go. Mom is going to kill me!
Austin laughs, always having found the utmost joy in my misery, especially when that misery means my parents will be too busy scolding me to bother pestering him about his love life . . . or lack thereof.
“Mom only turns fifty once,” Austin reminds me as I put the phone on speaker and barge through the door of my bathroom, tossing my clothes across the room. “The only thing she asked for was for us all to be on time for once.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I lean into the shower and turn on the taps before noticing the red and white wristbands still braced around my wrist, and as the water warms, I whip around and search through my makeup bag for my tiny nail scissors, desperate to cut them off. Though, would it be weird if I kept them? Maybe hidden away as a secret memento to remember my night with the wild caveman who fucked me all night and made me come three times? Yeah . . . maybe that’d be weird.
“First off, Mom is turning sixty. Not fifty. And I’m not that late. Just tell her I’m right around the corner and then she’ll be happy and get distracted asking how the restaurant is going. I’ll slip through the back door. She’ll never know.”
I hear Austin’s cringe through the phone. “If only it were that simple. I’m still an hour out.”
“WHAT?” I shriek, finally getting the wristbands off and dumping them in the top of my makeup bag. “Ahh shit. We’re both fucked. It’s going to be like last Christmas all over again.”
Austin groans. “Shit.”
“Wait,” I say, stepping into the shower and keeping the door open so I can continue my conversation. “How’d you know I was late if you’re not already there?”
“Because you’re Aspen. You’re always late.”
“Am not!”
Austin scoffs. “Just hurry up, dork. I’ll see you later.”
He doesn’t bother with a goodbye, simply ends the call as I reach for the shower door and pull it closed. I do what I can to race through my shower, scrubbing all the important bits and trying to remember if I washed my makeup off when I got home in the early hours of this morning.
I lather up my loofah and get to work, sailing down my legs and back up, detouring through the center and sucking in a breath, finding myself still a little sore from my wild night, but fuck, it’s a welcome feeling. I put it to the back of my mind, determined not to get carried away.