Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Not a chance. I can’t ignore you; you’re too important.”
And just like that, I’m a pile of goo. “Did you know that sometimes you say things to me that make me feel really good?”
“It would suck if I made you feel bad, Blue Eyes. How much did you have to drink?”
“Don’t know. We kept pouring from the pitcher.” I roll onto my side, cradling the phone to my cheek. “I miss you.”
“I know. I miss you, too.”
“And this time, you don’t get to come home in Ryan’s plane.”
“Heard about that, did you?”
“Yeah. Sucks. How first world are we?”
“I know, but it does suck. It means I won’t get home until Sunday evening.”
Almost a whole day later than usual.
“Oh. Okay. It’s okay. You’re working and stuff. How do you feel?”
“Like I just recovered from last week.” He chuckles in my ear, and my eyes feel heavy. “But it’ll be okay. This time tomorrow, the ride will be over.”
“Are you excited?”
“Hell yeah. It’s an incredible feeling to ride a bull.”
“I know.” I snort-laugh. “Tell me about it. I think I’ve just recovered myself.”
“You are drunk.”
“And sleepy.”
“You’re sounding sleepy.”
“And horny. Man! I should have brought my toy with me. Fail.”
“Wait. Are you telling me that you use that thing when I’m not home?”
“Uh, no?”
“Abbi. Tell me the truth.” His voice is hard and it makes me squeeze my thighs together.
“I mean, I haven’t, but now I think I will. Because you’re gone, so I can’t have the real thing. I think you’d get mad at me if I went out looking for a replacement.”
“Be careful, Blue Eyes.” His voice is almost lethal now, like he clearly didn’t find that funny.
“I make bad jokes when I’m drunk. It’s either you or plastic for me, Cowboy.”
“Don’t use that fucking toy until I’m home. Do you understand me?”
I bite my lip. Shit, he’s hot when he gets all bossy and growly like this. “If you’re home, I don’t need the toy, remember?”
“I’m going to use it on you myself.”
“How?” I frown into the darkness. “How does that even work? Brady. My back door is exit only. You’re not going to—”
Now he’s laughing his ass off in my ear, and I can’t help but grin.
“No back door play for you, Cowboy.”
“That’s not what I was planning on, but I bet we could have fun with that.”
“Nope. No way. Nuh-uh.” I shake my head and squeeze my cheeks together. “But if you want to turn it on vibrate and push it against my clit while you’re inside of me—”
“Abbi.”
“What?”
“I can’t have this conversation with you when you’re a thousand miles away.”
“Why? Are you hard? Are you horny, too? Man, this is bad timing.”
“You’re killing me.”
“If you were here, we could do all kinds of fun things. Well, maybe not here, in your brother’s house, but you know what I mean.”
“Abs?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
I smile and hug myself around my middle. “I know. It’s so crazy. I love you, too.”
I’m so hungry.
My stomach growls really loud, and I push my hands over it, as if I can cover the sound with them. I haven’t had any food in three days. Only water.
Because I’m a bad girl. And I’m fat.
I don’t mean to be either of those things. I don’t eat too much, only what I’m given, and that never even fills me up all the way.
I have to sit in the living room, perfectly still on the couch, while the family I live with gets to have dinner in the dining room. This house is the biggest one I’ve ever lived in, with tall ceilings that make footsteps echo on the tile floor. It’s cold in here all the time.
I can smell the roasted chicken from the oven, and my stomach growls again. I feel so sick. Nauseous and empty and shaky. This morning, I was dizzy.
I just need a piece of chicken. Just a couple of bites, and I’ll be okay.
I can’t help the whimper that comes out of my mouth, and I hear everyone stop eating.
Oh, no.
“You want food, fatso?” It’s the oldest son who yells it, a laugh in his mean voice. “You can have the scraps.”
“No, she doesn’t get anything,” the daughter says. God, I hate her prissy voice. She’s so mean to me, and I have to share a room with her. It’s humiliating when she laughs at me when I have to change my clothes. “She’s fat; she won’t starve.”
There’s more laughter, and I have to fold my lips in so I don’t cry out. At least no one in this house has tried to rape me.
They just humiliate me here. And withhold food from me.
I’m always so hungry.
I can hear them scraping the silverware over the plates, and then they get up and start to take their finished meals into the kitchen.
I wish I could just have whatever they didn’t finish. I’d be happy with anything at all.