Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
It was my fault. Everything that night was my fault. I never should have gone to him.
That’s the last time I spoke to Madox Reed, three years ago. Other than a single text I sent the next morning.
With a blink, the memory fades and the bar seems even more vibrant and lively as I round the corner – not even getting to order my drink, dammit – and search for the exit. I need to get out of here.
“Sorry.” The word slips from me as I accidentally brush against someone walking by and she spills her drink.
“Shit,” she says, and the girl just laughs it off, her blonde hair tumbling down her back as she dabs at her arm with a pale blue cocktail napkin. The smile on her face only broadens, and she leans into another woman who apologizes to me as if it was her friend’s fault.
The second girl’s smile dims as I merely stare back at them, not coming up with any words. Snap out of it.
I need to get the hell out of here.
Swallowing thickly, I turn and head for the door. So close. So close to getting away from him and never setting foot back in this place – or even on this street – it’s blacklisted now.
The second I open the door to the bar, the rain spills down, and Ryan Jacobs of all people is right fucking there. Madox’s best friend – shit, don’t see me.
I stop and stand awkwardly outside of the bar like a deer caught in headlights – don’t see me. The street, which is constantly busy, is fucking empty as I stand on the two feet of sidewalk protected by the awning. Of course it is. Leaving me nowhere to hide, and only Ryan to gawk at. He looks me right in the eye, blowing smoke from his cigarette before letting his lips tip up into a smile. He looks older than when I last saw him, but age looks damn good on him. His leather jacket creases around his shoulders as he stubs out his cig, carelessly flicking it to the side before heading straight for me.
It’s a good thing I’m not an undercover cop or on the run from the mafia. I apparently suck at hiding in plain sight.
“Hey.” The word crawls from me, hanging in the air as I try to form a smile that matches the genuine grin on his stubbled face.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Ryan tells me before wrapping his arms around me and giving me a hug I’ve missed so much. And what can I do?
They were my family. My friends.
When I left Madox, I left everyone.
He holds me tighter when I squeeze him back. And that’s when Brett walks out behind us, giving me the widest smile.
Fuck me. Fuck New York. Fuck this damn bar.
“I can’t believe you’re back, baby girl.”
Baby girl. They all called me that for the longest time. I had to ask Trisha to stop when she let it slip a few times the first week after we’d moved. I told her everything and how much it hurt. These guys though? I don’t know what they know. I never told them anything. Apparently I’m still baby girl to them though, and selfishly, that makes me happy.
“We need to celebrate with a drink,” Ryan says and starts pulling me toward the door. My heels dig in to the ground and I hesitate, my resolve to stay far away from Madox still firm. Until both Brett and Ryan look back at me, the questions in their eyes mixed with a touch of shock and pain.
It’s gone quickly, but it was there.
“Madox is in there,” I point out and wonder if they’ll lie to get me inside. “I don’t… I haven’t…” I don’t bother finishing, since every start to the sentence leaves me feeling childish.
“It’s been a long time,” Ryan says after a while and then shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “We don’t have to invite him over for drinks,” he offers, as if Madox ever asked for an invitation.
“Come on Soph, don’t do us like that. We miss you,” Brett tells me and opens the door a little wider. “I promise you the drinks are good and the first one’s on me.”
I could never turn down Brett. It was weird seeing him the first time at Trish’s in San Francisco, but only until he hugged me. He’s a guy who’s hard not to love.
“Just one drink?” Ryan asks in his charming puppy-dog voice he knows gets me every time and I cave. The two of them are too damn sweet and too damn cute to say no to. And I owe them. I owe them both more than I can ever repay them.
“Just one.” They both cheer and wrap an arm around me, ushering me in the second I agree. As though I’ll change my mind and bolt if they don’t get me to the bar as quick as they can.