Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
My smile returned but only mildly.
Helping Emmy grow was definitely something I could help with. And something told me I’d get more out of it than she.
It was soundcheck time in Seattle and while I fucked around with my guitar, I subtly watched Emmy sit at the gigantic drum kit while Hell handed her his sticks.
I wasn’t allowed to touch his sticks.
No one was allowed to touch his sticks.
But there he was, the massive Viking, handing her his most prized possessions, because it was Emmy. And I got that. She gave so much of herself to us that it was hard to not return the notion.
Believe me, I wanted to be unaffected. And I tried. But I failed.
Emmy sat on the drum throne and her toes barely touched the ground. Dressed in skinny blue jeans ripped at the knees, and navy-blue low-rider Chucks, she also wore a black Left Turn tee. Her dark hair was pulled up into a high but messy ponytail and, as always, her thick-framed glasses sat low on her nose. Those big blue eyes beamed in on Hell, she held the too-large sticks in her hands and listened intently to his instruction.
“Okay, so,” Hell stated, “all you’re gonna do is hold the sticks like this.” He moved to stand behind her and showed her where to place them. “And give the drums a light tap.”
Emmy’s nose bunched. She pushed her glasses up and said, “That’s it?”
Hell nodded. “That’s it.” He went to stand in front of his kit. “Go for it.”
Emmy threw both sticks down at the same time. While one hit its mark, the other hit the rim and bounced out of her hand. Her face bunched, and as she bent down to pick up the fallen stick, she knocked her temple on the side of the drum. “Ow,” she groaned, rubbing her head. She squinted through the pain, and muttered, “I didn’t realize playing the drums was so dangerous.”
And Hell just stood there, looking down at her with a solemn face. “How…?” Placing his hands to his lips, he waited a moment before he spoke. “How did you fuck that up?”
Emmy’s lips pouted and she sounded just as confused as he was. “I don’t know.”
While I pretended to tune my guitar, I laughed through my nose.
Jesus Christ, she was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
An uneasy feeling went through me.
I just wish I had more time with her.
“So, what are we thinking for dinner tonight?” asked Emmy as she plodded barefoot around the kitchen. “I hear Caribbean cuisine is a specialty up here.”
It was our last day in Seattle and, unfortunately, we didn’t have a show. This meant promo and I fucking hated doing promo. I understood it was necessary but it was tedious and boring, and when you put the two of those together, for me, it was hell on earth.
Noah bit into an apple. “I don’t know. Do we want to be eating spicy food tonight? We’re on the bus tomorrow.”
Emmy made a face. “Good point.” When nobody answered her, she sighed. “C’mon, guys. Give me something. Anything.”
“Hey, Emmy.” I grinned, strumming my guitar on the sofa. When her eyes met mine and she blinked at me, all innocence, I uttered my daily query, “Wanna fuck?”
Her lips thinned. “No, I don’t.” She sounded ready to lose her shit. “I want to know what you want for dinner!”
I puffed out a breath through my lips. “You’re looking like a snack today, baby.” I threw her a slow wink. “What if I just eat you?”
When her face crumpled and she mock cried then let out a pained, “Connor,” I inwardly chuckled.
Making Emmy mad was fast becoming my favorite pastime. I loved to torment her. And I know she secretly loved it too.
The way her sweet face flushed with anger, those permanently puckered lips pouting furiously… holy hell. She was a walking boner magnet and the thing I loved most about it was, she didn’t even know it.
Lee walked past Emmy, reaching out to pinch her hip. “Why don’t you choose for once, kid?”
She jerked away from his touch. My sweet Emmy was ticklish. “Because the last time I chose, everyone gave me crap about my selection.”
“Cereal for dinner is not a selection,” Hell pointed out. “It’s laziness.”
Emmy scowled at him. “I happen to like cereal, thank you very much.”
A knock at the door sounded and we all turned toward it. Emmy frowned. “Did anyone order up?”
We all shook our heads and Emmy approached the door cautiously. When she checked the peephole, she let out a little squeal and threw the door open. The second it opened and Amber spotted Emmy, she threw herself into Emmy’s arms and they squeezed each other, laughing.
When Amber pulled back, she took her time looking at Emmy’s change of appearance. “Wow, honey. You look great.”