Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“Hey! Are you Just Mr. Love?” says a pretty woman in a hot pink sequined dress, pulling me from my thoughts.
I almost correct her, but I don’t care anymore. I have bigger issues than a problematic hero name. “That’s me, just and full of love.”
“Can I take a selfie with you?”
“Sure. Why not?” This is exactly what I came for.
She stands close and snaps one off. “Thank you so much! Hey, guys! Over here!” She waves a group of her friends over. “It’s Just Mr. Love!”
Suddenly, they’re all lining up for selfies. This is great. Kyle’s going to see pictures of me all over social media. It’ll only help to sell my story—that I don’t care about River, him, or any of his BS. I’m not his toy anymore.
After a few minutes, celebrities are coming up, wanting to take photos with me, too. It’s pretty amazing. I’ve always wanted to meet Ivor Stretton, from the Fast and the Forgetful—a really hilarious movie about this guy who always forgets his keys in the middle of a heist. I also meet Kady M., who’s one of the prettiest actresses in the world, in my humble opinion. Her work in Espresso Panties was the shit.
I spend hours mingling, drinking, and dancing. I’ve never been social. I’ve never been to a club. I’ve never been around so many friendly, beautiful, famous people, and they all want to talk to me. This is awesome.
It’s almost midnight when the patrons stop dancing and start looking at their phones. Everyone’s talking frantically.
I pull out my phone, too. Twittster is exploding with the interview Luna just posted. I wait to see how the crowd reacts. Are they going to believe Morris? Or are they going to keep believing it’s the end of the world for millions?
People start looking over at me. Smiles. They’re all smiling.
I go back to my phone and scroll through the interview. I read the subtitles because the music is too loud: “The world has been waiting for a real man to step up and fight for us all, and I’m here to tell you that Mr. Love is all in—a real life superhero.”
My ego gets all pumped. Then I notice that our kiss is also trending. Millions of views already. And everyone’s hailing me as a hero for uncovering this massive government mindfuck.
For the first time in my life, I feel proud of myself. I didn’t run. I didn’t martyr myself. I told the truth. Mostly. And I stood up to a powerful, corrupt bully.
Maybe being Mr. Love really is my destiny.
I go outside to call Luna. “Hey, good job with the story.”
“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“How would you like another bombshell?” I ask.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I wake up the next morning on someone’s couch, unsure of where I am. Looks like a swanky house with colorful art, gold-and-white upholstered Deco furniture, and bamboo floors. I look down at my body. My shirt is off, and in its place, I’m wearing a black trash bag. Huh?
At least my pants are on. A good sign. To my side on the floor is an empty champagne bottle.
I sit up, rip the bag off, and hold my pounding head. My mind starts dishing up slices of last night’s fun. I called Luna and told her I’d recorded my conversation with Kyle, so she texted me a pic of her house and had me to come over. I showed up, and we listened to the whole thing together. She was so excited to have another juicy scoop that she wanted to celebrate. I didn’t object. Last night felt like a big win. My only regret was that River wasn’t there. I have to be patient and allow my plan to work.
Kyle won’t want to keep her now. He’ll want to distance himself from every accusation.
I squeeze the sides of my head again, trying to stop the pounding. “Owww…” I must’ve had a lot to drink if I’m hungover.
I get up to find a bathroom and pass the kitchen. I see five empty whiskey bottles on the counter next to my phone.
Now I remember. Luna and I were doing shots, and then she wanted to take a bunch of selfies. Then she asked me to take my shirt off, and she posted our pics online. I didn’t object—more proof to Kyle that Huffy don’t give a fuck.
“Hey…” Luna shuffles into the kitchen, looking like hell.
“Good morning,” I grumble.
“Nothing good about it,” she mutters and goes for her refrigerator.
“What happened last night? Besides the fact I drank like it really was the end of the world?”
“We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re asking.” She pushes her hand through the top shelf, looking for something.
“I wasn’t.” Though, she is beautiful. Athletic, petite body. Full lips. Big hazel eyes. Any guy would be tempted to make a move on her.