Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
I cracked my neck and squeezed my lips together, pretending to think about it. I definitely had legal representation of my own. It was the nastiest motherfucker to ever study law, and it was me. I might be cold, heartless, and emotionally handicapped, but Jo knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was also the best in the business.
I’d spoken to Eli Cole, too. He’d agreed to represent me in case my father did leave her something and I needed to scare her off. I wanted her penniless. It wasn’t about the money. It was about justice.
The waitress reappeared with my credit card. I tipped her a hundred percent and got up, leaving my stepmother alone at the table in front of her half-eaten dish. My plate was clean. My conscience was, too.
“By all means, please feel free to lawyer up, Mother,” I said as I shouldered into my cashmere pea coat. “Frankly, that’s the best idea you’ve had in years.”
Ten Years Ago
“SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO go back to the party?” I asked Dean between breathless kisses.
He nuzzled his nose into my collarbone, our lips swollen from the last half hour. We’d kissed until we’d run out of saliva and our mouths were numb. I liked his kisses. They were good. Wet. Maybe a little too wet, but definitely enjoyable. Besides, we were still figuring out how to enjoy each other. Things were going to get even better with time. I was sure of it.
“Party? There’s a party?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, pinching his eyebrows together. “Cut that shit, Millie. I didn’t even notice. Way too busy spending time with a girl who tastes like ice cream and paints like Picasso.” His voice was husky and hoarse.
I ignored the Picasso remark because my style was nothing like his, but I appreciated the compliment, I guess. Okay, it annoyed me a little. Because I knew for a fact Dean didn’t know even one Picasso painting.
God, what was wrong with me?
I liked Dean a lot. He was handsome, with his chestnut man-bun and green eyes. I ran my hand over his bulging triceps, groaning with need when I thought about what they could do to me if and when we decided to take our make-out sessions to the next step.
I knew all about the Four HotHoles, and he was one of them.
Soon, Dean was going to ask for sex.
Soon, I was going to agree.
I would be happy to give him my V-card if not for the nagging feeling that this was just another cruel Vicious joke. Surely, Dean wasn’t hateful enough to date me just so Vicious could make fun of me later? No, he seemed genuine. The sweet messages. The coffee he brought me every morning when we met at school. The late night phone calls. The kisses.
When he’d first asked me for a date months ago, I’d politely declined. He’d persisted. For weeks and weeks, he’d waited next to my locker, beside my bike, and outside my family’s apartment at the estate. He was relentless and focused, yet kind and sweet. Said that he promised not to touch me until I was ready. Said I shouldn’t judge him based on his reputation. And claimed to have a ten-inch dick, which meant absolutely nothing to this virgin. I might have playfully punched his arm for the latter.
But I was lonely, and he was cute and nice to me. Having someone was better than having no one.
Sometimes, doubt still crept into my mind. The HotHoles didn’t have the best reputation. Even worse, I had unresolved feelings toward his good friend. Granted, most of those feelings were negative, but still.
As if sensing my wall of defensiveness going up, Dean leaned into me on my narrow single bed and pressed his lips to my temple. “I really like you, Millie.”
“I really like you too.” I sighed, rubbing his cheek with my thumb. I’d spoken the truth. The feelings he stirred in me, they were positive. Safe. But they weren’t wild. They didn’t drive me crazy, and they didn’t make me want to act irrationally and unlike myself.
Which was good. I think.
“All your friends are out there. I’m sure you want to hang out with them.” I nudged him softly. “You don’t have to choose between me and your parties.”
But that wasn’t the whole truth, and we both knew it.
“I’d rather stay here with you,” he said, lacing his fingers through mine.
We both looked at our hands, silently contemplating our next step. The atmosphere shifted into something heavy that pressed on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Then I’ll come with you.” I mustered a smile.
I didn’t like Vicious’s parties, but for Dean, I was willing to show my face. Even though it was a face no one wanted to see.