Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
“What did you just say?” She turns her icy glare on me.
I don’t know why, but I grin. “Pip—you know, like pipsqueak.”
She bares her teeth at me. “My name is Nora!”
“Right.” I glance down at my well-worn boots to hide my smile. “Well, you coming inside, Nora? I know you don’t wanna be here—and I’ll tell you a secret: I don’t either—but at least inside there’s food and no rain.”
“It’s not raining out here either…” She trails off, the unspoken yet hanging between us.
“Suit yourself, then.” I turn toward the house, feeling some kind of way about leaving someone so small outside when it’s about to storm. I know firsthand the kind of damage storms like these can bring.
But before I can ask her again, a huge crack of thunder booms overhead, and I hear a squeak followed by the sound of her shoes on the gravel as she bolts toward me, only before she can make it to the first step, the wind starts to howl, and she must be smaller than I thought because the gust sends her flying my way.
She windmills her arms, trying to keep herself upright, but it’s no use. The kid’s going down.
I reach out and steady her before she can hit the ground. “You good?” I ask, making sure she’s steady before releasing my hold on her shoulders.
“Fine,” she mutters, like the single syllable hurts her to give up, darting up the steps and into the house.
I always chalked Nora’s oddness up to grief and a healthy dose of teenage angst. The kid lost both of her parents in less than five years of each other, and now the only family she has left is me and Dad. The fact that I never really made an effort to get to know her sort of has me feeling like shit now.
Still, I read over the first passage a few times, thinking maybe there was a hidden meaning, but I’ve got nothing.
I guess I’ll have to keep going and see what I find, if anything.
“Atlas!” Scarlet snaps her fingers and I shut the diary, shoving it under my pillow, focusing all of my attention on her.
She’s dressed in a short little black number that hugs her curves like she was sewn into it as she leans against my door frame in a way I’m sure is meant to be seductive.
And yet, in this moment, even with her toned legs and ample cleavage on display, my dick stays soft.
I’m pretty sure we’re headed toward being off again in the near future, because while she’s certainly a looker, my libido seems to be on an extended vacation.
“Sorry, what?”
“Atlas.” She sighs, sauntering my way. “We have plans tonight, don’t you remember?”
“Remind me?” I give her my best grin, and she melts, running her fingers through my hair.
“Dinner and dancing ring a bell?”
I could lie and say I remember but honestly, I don’t, and I’m sure the look on my face is a dead giveaway. “Not even a little.”
Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get that burger…
“Ellis’s new flavor of the month—” I don’t miss the way her lip curls at the mention of Carrie—or maybe her name’s Kelsey? “—wants to check out some rock band, and he so kindly volunteered us to tag along.”
Spending hours in a crowded bar sounds like fucking torture, but even so, I find myself nodding along. Sometimes giving in to her is less of a headache than arguing. “Give me fifteen to shower and change.”
“Or…” Scarlet leans down, thrusting her tits into my face as she licks her red-slicked lips. “I could join you and we can make it twenty.”
You’d think I’d be all over it; she’s hot as sin and a sure thing, but still, nothing. Maybe a night out isn’t such a bad thing. Hell, after a few drinks, I’m betting I’ll be begging her to sneak away to the bathroom or my truck for a little fun.
But here and now, it’s not happening. “Don’t wanna keep Ellis waiting, right?” I stand from the bed and press my lips to hers, hoping the kiss softens my refusal.
Sure enough, she melts under my touch and pads back out to the living room to wait.
I make quick work of showering and dressing in a pair of well-worn jeans and a button-down shirt. A quick glance at my phone tells me I have five minutes to spare.
Logically, I know I should just head on out to the living room so we can get on the road, but instead, I find myself reaching for Nora’s diary. I’m not sure why, but I feel—Fuck, I don’t know, compelled?—to read it or something. It’s like this itch under my skin, and the only way to scratch it is to get to the bottom of why she left it for me, and so, with sure fingers, I flip to the next entry, and let myself fall into her words.