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)
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
“Fuck them,” he tells me with raised brows. “Calling you young and unprofessional is a cheap shot, and those journalists will take it every time.” He lowers his back and rises in another sit-up. “That’s the truth. I’m not blowing smoke because I’m dating and fucking you.”
He lowers again, casual and cool. Acting like he reported a simple weather forecast.
Fuck me. I feel my smile try to take shape.
“Je suis d'accord avec lui, Moffy,” Janie says, sitting on the couch’s other long side. Mirror propped on her thighs. She applies an avocado mask, her hair twisted in a pink towel.
I agree with him, Moffy.
My mouth inches upward a bit more. I’m trying my best to let go, but some things are clinging to me like fucking tar.
I adjust my ice pack on my sore shoulder and remember what Farrow said about brainstorming.
So I lower my voice, ensuring Beckett, Charlie, and Sulli won’t hear me. “I’ve thought about people who’d want to create a murder account,” I tell him, “and I came up with absolutely nothing.”
Farrow increases his sit-up pace. “Not one name?”
He already said he’s taking care of the one-night stand NDAs, and he’s been waiting for lawyers to send him those contracts. I only need to help brainstorm other people. Like a high school rival, a pissed off neighbor, or a scorned college student.
I picture…no one. Not really.
I did deal with my fair share of harassment in high school. Like the snide comments about my mom, the dick drawings, and accusing me of being a bastard. Some guys hated me because they needed someone to hate. But I can’t see them, years later, wanting me dead.
“If they exist,” I tell Farrow, “I don’t know about them.”
His muscles flex on his way up.
“Janie?” I ask.
She cleans her hands on a towel and shuts her mirror. Blue eyes on me, she offers her complete attention. “You were always sweet to people and well-liked. And very famous. Many people had a crush on you in high school. Even the neighbors.”
Farrow rolls his eyes.
I give him a look. “Come on, if I’d been around your age growing up, you would’ve had a crush on me too.”
“And there goes your humility.” On his way up, he twists to the right, near enough to kiss me.
Kiss me.
His mouth quirks before he leans back down. Such a tease.
I lick my lips. “Just stating the truth.”
Amusement rests behind his eyes. “The truth is that you would’ve ‘wanted’ me to have a crush on you.” He rises. “And you always, always would’ve been infatuated with me.”
“That’s already bullshit since I’ve never been infatuated with you.”
He lets out a short, dry laugh before his smile expands. “Weren’t you the one who dreamed of me taking your virginity in a shower?”
I blink.
Yeah.
I feel like he flipped over whatever metaphorical board game we were playing. Chess? Backgammon? Candy Land?
I feign confusion. “Was that you and me? Could’ve been another guy who looks like you.”
“No one else looks like me,” he says in that matter-of-fact voice that grips my body. He rises to his knees and twists…away from my face. He’s smiling wide, still teasing the hell out of me.
It’s working.
I swelter inside out, and I keep a hand on my ice pack to cool off.
Jane points her phone at us and snaps a candid photo of me and Farrow.
I tell Janie, “That better be evidence that he looks more infatuated than me.”
“Memories.” She examines the photo. “And from what I can see, you share equal infatuation.”
I gesture to Farrow. “There it is.”
He pushes back his hair, and our eyes caress in a powerful moment.
I inhale—and I break eye contact. My phone vibrating on the floor. Jane just texted me the picture. Perks of extra phone security, I now have photos of my boyfriend without fear of hacks.
But I leave my phone where it is and reroute back to the topic. “If Janie can’t even think of someone who’d make a murder account, then we’re doomed.”
Farrow crunches up. “You’re telling me no one was jealous of you? You’re a wealthy, attractive celebrity who swam competitively.”
I stare off, thinking.
“Moffy.” Jane perks up in a sudden thought. “Jason, Ray, and Clark.”
“Who?” Farrow asks, noticing my darkened frown. He stays upright, his arm on the back of the couch.
“Guys on the swim team with me,” I answer. Remembering the yacht, the summer bash, from years ago. My cheekbones sharpen. “The last time I talked to them, we beat the shit out of each other.”
Farrow sweeps my features. “I need more than that.”
“Before I fought with Charlie on the yacht,” I say, “I overheard them talking about my mom in the master cabin. And I went off.” I shake my head a few times. “I was almost in a blackout rage, okay? I’m not proud.”