Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 66859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I try to say something, but my words come out a little slurred.
“Go to sleep, Poppy,” Beckett murmurs. “You’re high as fuck right now.”
“Beckett,” I manage, my head spinning. “Can you kiss me before I die?”
He doesn’t say anything. He clearly has never seen the movie Little Women or he’d know the joke. In the movie, Amy tells Laurie she’s worried she won’t get her first kiss before she dies, and Laurie promises to kiss her at least once before she dies. It was always my favorite movie and that part I loved the most.
Clearly Beckett has no idea what my high ramblings are about.
I know this because he rolls toward me, puts a warm, big hand on my face, and leans down, pressing his lips to mine. I’m either high as hell and imagining this, or Beckett is kissing me. I don’t care, I’m going to live in the high fantasy if that’s all it is. I grab his face in my hands and I kiss him back. We’re all lips and tongues and a kiss that’s so deep it makes my toes curl. It’s the best damned thing I’ve had in my life and I relish in it. I kiss him until my lips burn and my body aches for more.
I have no doubt I’m imagining this kiss, dreaming it even, but all the same it’s incredible.
Before I know it, I’m asleep.
I have no idea what happens next.
I don’t even recall waking during the night. I just find myself being stung by sunlight the next day, and my entire body hurting when I move. It hurts as if it hasn’t moved even a centimeter. The drugs Ramona gave me must have been good ones for me not to feel the pain that’s slowly coming back as I become more and more aware.
I let my eyelids flutter open as I try to recall anything from the night before.
I remember most of it.
I remember dreaming of a kiss between Beckett and I, a kiss that has me shivering just thinking about it. I’m certain I was high and imagining it, but when I press the back of my hand to my lips, brushing over there, they’re sore. Is it possible that kiss was real?
I turn my head and see the bed empty beside me, but there is no doubt Beckett spent the night.
I push up and out, groaning and wincing as I do. My entire body feels like it has been hit by a truck, my ribs are especially tender, though Beckett said he’s certain they’re not broken and just bruised. I hope he’s right. I climb out of bed and manage to get myself out into the kitchen where Beckett is standing, coffee in hand, shirtless and looking so god damned good I can’t even make eye contact with the man.
Pathetic.
“How you feelin’?” he asks me, casually, in that gruff voice he always uses.
I finally look at him and shrug. “Okay.”
I want to ask him about the kiss, but he’s certainly not acting like it happened and I don’t want to seem like an idiot for asking.
“I don’t remember much last night,” I say instead. “I was out of it.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You passed out right away.”
Right.
So there was no kiss? Is that what he’s saying?
God dammit, it’s making me crazy.
“Right,” I say, grabbing a cup and pouring myself a coffee.
Beckett walks over, sweeping my hair off my face so suddenly I freeze, sucking in a breath and stiffening.
“Chill out, Pop-Tart. I’m checkin’ your wound.”
Of course he is.
Of course.
I exhale and let him inspect it.
“Looks good, clean. You’ll have a good scar.”
“Lucky I don’t have the face of a model that needs perfection,” I mutter.
Unlike his beautiful Becky.
“Nothin’ wrong with your face.”
“Oh, ouch,” I say, staring at him. “That’s what men say to ugly girls.”
He grunts. “No, it’s what men say when they’re tellin’ the truth.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know where you got that information from, but your source was wrong.”
He raises his brows and just stares at me.
“If you thought I was a babe, you’d say I was a babe, or you’d call me fucking hot or something of the like. Nothing wrong with your face, is basically saying, sure you’re not ugly but I certainly wouldn’t bang you either.”
Beckett snorts and shakes his head. “You’re twisted.”
“I’m saying it how it is.”
He mumbles something. “C’mon, we’ve got shit to do.”
“You can’t be serious?” I say, crossing my arms with a wince. “I’m injured. How am I supposed to work?”
He blinks, slowly. “It ain’t that hard.”
“I’m in pain, Beckett ...”
“Then you can do the easy jobs. We gotta get this done.”
God, of course.
Of course he’s not going to give me a break.
I’m reminded once more that I’m nothing more than a means to an end.
When they’re done with me, I’ll be tossed out like the rest of them.