Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
I’m happy for the guys. I am. They’re paving the way so real change can be made.
But right now? I want to wallow and drink and …
I stare in the direction where Soren went, and I have to fight the urge to go after him. I won’t know which Soren I’d get. Perfect night Soren or Tampa Soren. The guy who wants me or the guy who’s overprotective and says things like I’m perfect … for someone else.
I thought if I ever saw Soren again, I’d be over him. I thought my Harley relationship might’ve tempered those feelings toward the hockey player.
Nope. Despite our encounter in Tampa ending dramatically, when I saw Soren last night for the first time in two years, all I could see was my Soren. The Soren who begged me to tell him love exists and is true—as if my songs held the answers to the entire universe.
I want that guy again.
“Hey, guys?” I stand. “I’m out too.”
“What’s the matter, junior?” Miller asks. “Where’s this rock star stamina of yours?”
Everyone at the table snickers, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Y’all can mock me about stamina after you’ve performed a stadium tour. One hundred twenty-three shows in eight months.”
My brother smiles at me. “Rest up, bro.”
“I’ll help celebrate tomorrow. I promise. Should be over the jet lag by then. And before anyone cracks a joke about Jet being jet-lagged, don’t bother.”
Lennon, my ex-roommate, frowns. “Are you okay?” he mouths.
I fake a smile and hope I can pull off an “I’m fine” expression.
Which I am.
I’m fine.
Or I will be.
How long is this thing called heartbreak supposed to last?
The plan is to go back to my hut, maybe troll some tabloid sites to torture myself, and then try to sleep.
But as my feet hit the cool grass to cut across the property, they stall completely at the sight of Caleb Sorensen sitting on his deck. His legs hang off the edge as he stares out at the ocean, and I wish I wasn’t drawn to him.
I wish my feet wouldn’t head in his direction.
His gaze meets mine, and damn, those eyes. Normally, light and warm, they’re now dark and distant but still hypnotic.
“You needed to get away from the love-fest too?”
Irrational as it is, I don’t want to get into the reasons why I needed out of there tonight. Not with Soren. In my messed-up mind, I want to partially blame him for this mood I’m in. He’s the one who told me to go out and fall in love. Look where it got me.
“I’m just exhausted.” I approach and take a seat next to him because apparently, my draw to him is stronger than my willpower.
My hand grips the edge of the deck precariously close to his. That shouldn’t spark something inside me, but it does.
I want to be over this ridiculous hold he has over me. I thought I was, and all it took to come back was laying eyes on him again.
“Just exhausted? Are we lying to each other now? Nice.”
I cock my head. “If either of us is a liar, it might be the guy who forgot to mention he was in a serious relationship while he flirted with me.”
“I did not flirt.”
I give him my best I call bullshit face.
“I didn’t intentionally flirt,” he amends.
“I’m not in the habit of trying to kiss guys who don’t flirt with me.”
Soren purses his lips. “No. I don’t suppose you’d need to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Calm down. I meant you’d have a million guys lining up to flirt with you. You wouldn’t have to waste time with someone who wasn’t putting in any effort.”
“Well, that is true.”
“You going to tell me about the guy?”
My brow furrows. “What guy?”
He leans in, bumping me with his shoulder. “The one you’re running away from.”
I want to lie and keep up the exhaustion excuse, but trying to keep up with that is more exhausting than dealing with my unresolved feelings for Harley. “I met him on tour.”
“Bad breakup?”
“How do you know we’re not just fighting?”
“I don’t know anyone who’d fly halfway around the world to escape a fight.”
“You underestimate overdramatic musicians.”
“Ah, so he’s a musician too.”
Shit. I’ve probably already violated a term in the NDA I signed.
“Yeah. He’s, uh, part of the Eleven backup band,” I lie.
“I’m guessing none of the guys know.”
“They’d turn all big brother on me and coddle me and … yeah, I’m good, thanks. I’m dealing.”
“Did you want to … maybe … if you need an ear—”
“You look about as willing as a hooker facing a fifteen-inch cock.”
Soren’s forehead scrunches. “I don’t know what that means. Would a hooker like that or not?”
“That’s way too big.”
“Oh. Then yeah, true. Because I don’t exactly want to hear about you with other guys, but if you need to talk, I’m here.”