Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I didn’t have some of the most insanely rough and satisfying sex of my entire life with Hot Neighbor.
I didn’t see his guns, his money, his weird barren apartment, or the total wreckage of some bizarre home invasion.
Nope. None of that happened.
“Lena? Are you just getting home?”
I grimace and turn around. Mom’s shuffling toward me in her pink fuzzy robe, frowning deeply. Her eyes are red and puffy and her skin sags over her skinny bones. She’s got a blue scarf over her shaved head today. I hate that she’s so thin. It breaks my heart all over again every time I notice it.
In my memory, Mom’s a rock. She’s there every morning, every evening, taking care of us and making sure we’re not screwing up too bad. We were never rich, but when she was working for the law office things were comfortable.
But she hasn’t been there for at least a few years now and I doubt she’ll ever go back.
“Late night,” I say lamely, trying to think up an excuse. “I went out with Kristina after work.”
“And you’re just getting back?” Mom narrows her eyes at me. “Are you drunk?”
“No,” I say quickly and realize it’d actually be weird if I hadn’t been drinking. “I mean, a little bit. Not a lot. A totally normal amount of drunk.”
Smooth, real natural. I show her all my teeth in what should be a smile but is more like a woman about to get whacked by a firing squad.
She sighs and shakes her head, but she doesn’t press for details. “You shouldn’t stay out all night. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m okay, Momma.” She comes over and I plant a kiss on her cheek. “Want me to make coffee?”
“You should go get some sleep. I can manage on my own.”
“It’ll be fine. Go sit down.”
She hates when I fuss over her, but she eventually obeys. I brew it the way she likes, way too weak for my taste, and make us both some toast. She nibbles at the edges and gives me a disapproving frown, but I still sit with her while she eats and even manage to wolf down my portion.
Truth is, I did get some sleep last night. Not a whole lot—Arsen wasn’t interested in leaving me alone once he got his fangs in me—but we eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion.
In the morning, he was gone. No note, no goodbye kiss. Not an ounce of intimacy, not that I expected any. The place looked semi-straightened, almost like nothing had happened.
Like he never happened.
Except the ache between my legs and the filthy memories still swirling through my brain prove he was real.
I’ve never had a one-night stand before in my life.
And now I just slept with Hot Neighbor on a mattress that looked like it had been slashed by a murderer.
“Should I go wake up Dad?” I ask once Mom’s finished her breakfast. I straighten up the dishes and put some cups in the sink.
“Let him sleep. He’s working doubles now.”
I grimace slightly. I’d almost forgotten he’s taking extra shifts at the warehouse loading tiles onto pallets. Rough, physically demanding work, and he’s got a bad back and aging knees. Every day he comes home, weary and in pain, but with a big smile on his face. Worth it for the love of my life, he says, kissing Momma’s head.
“Who’s taking you to your appointment?”
“Your brother should be up soon.”
I laugh lightly. “I’ll kick down his door then.”
“Leave poor Vadim alone.”
I roll my eyes. Poor Vadim. That boy is treated like a damn prince. My older brother can do no wrong. Twenty-six doing nothing but trading crypto online and taking on a series of extremely shady odd jobs. At least he brings in money.
“You’re going to be late if that lazy prick doesn’t get out of bed.”
“It’ll be fine, darling girl. Let me take care of the boys. You go sleep now.”
I frown at her. I hate how frail she looks and how much we still lean on her. If I had my way, she’d do nothing but lounge around and focus on getting better.
If she ever does.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I kiss her cheek and tell her that I love her. I’d be a liar if I said I weren’t at least a little bit grateful. I have another shift at the club tonight and if I don’t pass out soon, I’m going to be a wreck.
All for something that didn’t happen.
I slip into my room. It’s the smallest in the apartment, but I like it. My little treasures are lined up on my bookshelf: mementos from all the adventures I’ve gone on throughout the city. Like the scrap of leather from the time I broke into an abandoned shoe factory, or the old screwdriver I found in a series of huge drainage pipes I crawled through when I was thirteen, or the chunk of brick from a tunnel a friend of a friend swore was part of the underground railroad.