Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“She left,” Rayleigh intones flatly. “She was trying not to cry.”
It’s then that the full impact hits me.
Joy actually believed Mollie’s delulu-land lies. Joy just believed her, and . . . left.
What the actual fuck?
I’m gonna give Joy a piece of my mind and ask what the hell is running through hers as soon as I find her, which becomes my new priority mission.
Halfway to the door, Mollie intercepts me, stepping directly in front of me and placing her hand on my chest. She smiles up at me like everything’s fine, except she’s burned my whole world to the fucking ground and is standing on the ashes of the one thing I was working so hard to build.
“Everything’s okay now, baby,” she purrs. “We’re okay.”
Red flashes in front of my vision. “What the fuck are you talking about? There is no we, Mollie.”
She laughs like I said something funny. “Of course there is. You always come back to me.” She dips her chin, looking up at me through her lashes, and says in a pouty voice, “There was the bank teller, then me. The redhead, then me. You were supposed to fuck this one and come back like you always do, but you took too long and I got impatient, so I took care of her for us.” She walks her fingers up my chest to my cheek, where she pats me. Hard. As though she’s punishing me for a scenario that exists only in her mind.
I flinch, putting a solid foot between us as I knock her hand away because I suddenly grasp that I have had no real idea who Mollie was until now. I thought she was clingy, trying to make our few hookups into something more. I didn’t know she created an entire fantasy life in her head where we are something more than previous fuck partners.
“Took care of her?” I repeat, realization dawning. “You knew Joy was in the bathroom, listening to your lies. How long have you known about me and her?”
“A while.” Mollie waves a hand dismissively, as if Joy is a bothersome gnat in her fantasy. “But it’ll be fine now. We’ll get through the season, you’ll get the call we’ve dreamed of, and . . . Oh! I already talked to June about planning your signing party. Hopefully, it’ll be a blue-and-red Otter theme so we can stay close to our friends.” She grins widely like what she’s saying makes any sense.
She hasn’t only deluded herself into thinking there’s an us, but she has my career planned out, with her apparently at my side as I get signed by the nearest team to Maple Creek.
“Mollie! No,” I snap. “There’s no us. There never was.”
This is taking too long. I have to get out of here and get to Joy so I can fix this. I step around Mollie, taking care not to touch her, but she grabs my bicep. “Dalton!”
“Don’t touch me!” I bark loudly, not caring who hears, as I shake her off and stride out the door.
“Open the fucking door, Joy!” I yell as I bang on her door.
I half expect her to ignore me or do the stupid “leave a message, beep” thing. Instead, the door flings open so fast and hard that it bounces off the wall behind it and rebounds to hit her in the shoulder.
“Fuuuck you, Dalton Daysss!” Joy snarls, her lip curled and her eyes red.
She’s drunk. I know she didn’t drive home that way, so she’s been drinking since she got here. It’s not how I want to have this conversation, but I’m not gonna let this ride. We’re talking it out now. Drunk Joy or not.
I push into her apartment, closing the door behind me, only to see . . .
“Are you cleaning?” I stutter, looking around. There’s nothing on the floor except vacuum lines on the rug, her coffee table is gleaming, the couch pillows are fluffed and karate chopped, the sink is empty, and I can hear both the dishwasher and washing machine running.
“Rage cleaning and alcohol seemed like a good way to deal with my fucking problems. What’zhit chu you?” she sneers.
“June told me what happened.”
Joy whips her head around, her brown waves flipping behind her as she dismisses me in favor of folding the couch blanket. “Whatever. I knew better.”
“What do you mean ‘you knew better’? Because you should fucking mean that you knew better than to believe Mollie’s lies,” I roar, and she pins me with a glare. She haphazardly lays the blanket on the back of the couch, not saying a word. “But you don’t, do you?” I bite out.
“Yeah, sure. Mollie’s lies,” she repeats, rolling her eyes. “Of course, she’s lying.” She throws her voice low, mimicking a man’s pitiful pleading, “No, Joy. I swear I’m not screwing her. It’s you, only you.”