Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Shit. I’d feel like shit.
Fuck. And fuck that world and this one too, where Malik was dancing with the pretty actress who dared to touch his beard with her red, red nails.
“Should we save Malik from Angelica?” Tiffany laughed, eyes knowing. “They’re cute together.”
And just like that, I was one hundred percent over dancing. Hell yes, I wanted to rescue Malik, reclaim what was mine, and no fucking way could I do it.
“You thirsty?” I pulled away from Tiffany, voice rough, eyes still locked on Malik’s back. “I should get us some water.”
“Avery…” Tiffany’s tone was gentle, far nicer than I deserved, and I had no choice but to hightail it to the beverage table before I either burst into tears or hit something.
I made my way to the front of the drinks line, grabbed two waters, and pressed the cold bottles to that ache in my chest, where it seemed like my fucking heart wanted to escape. And then I turned, and Malik was there, face sweaty, eyes solemn.
Forget escape. My heart was already gone, and I wasn’t sure I would survive this pain even before he opened his mouth.
“We need to talk. For real.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Malik
“Avery.” Where did I even begin with all the things I was feeling? Avery clutched his water bottles like they were all that stood between us and a public incident. He wasn’t wrong. I was seconds away from hauling him to me, bottles, crowd, and Avery’s objections be damned. “We need to talk.”
“Yeah. I know.” His face was creased with pain, eyes hollow and empty. I’d never wanted to hug him more. “Not here though.”
Hug. Or throttle. It was something of a toss-up. I dragged him outside, where people loitered in clumps, no privacy in sight, and no way was I waiting until we were back in our room. I settled for steering him behind one of the false storefront set pieces.
“I…” Now that we were actually here, ready to talk, I was suddenly at a loss for words. I stared at him for several long moments, taking in his pain and restlessness and how he kept fidgeting, looking around, for what I wasn’t sure. Trying to remember what I’d been rehearsing all day, I opened my mouth, but the only thing I could manage was, “Did you want to dance with Tiffany?”
“Want?” Avery’s eyes narrowed, shoulders slumping, mouth drooping farther with each word. “No.” His mouth pursed like the admission tasted bad. “And somehow, I kept from clawing Angelica’s face off. See? I can rein in the impulsive temper sometimes.”
“Impressive.” I laughed harshly at the memory of every lecture I’d given him this trip about not letting his emotions get the better of him. Weirdly, though, for once, I wished he’d let his feelings bubble over. At least then, I might have a clue about where his head was at. “You were jealous?”
“You need me to say it?” Surly Avery was back, and if we were alone, I’d be certain he was pushing for a spanking, but we were steps away from several groups of people, so I wasn’t sure why he was being so bratty. If he hadn’t wanted me to dance with Angelica, he could have said something, anything, hell, made up an excuse even. To be fair, I could have done the same, but I’d been caught up in the whirlwind that was Tiffany and company and also frustrated with Avery over the corset.
“Might be nice.” Tone level, I regarded him closely.
Avery made a popping sound with his tongue instead of answering. Scanning the crowd over my shoulder, he said softly, “Did you see the guy in the corset?”
“Yeah.” I was none too happy at his refusal to admit he was jealous, so I was a bit more pointed than usual. “Give you ideas for the premiere party?”
“I’m not that brave.” His gaze darted everywhere other than at me. There was a message in his tone, the wobble in his voice revealing he meant far more than some outfit.
“You could be.” I met him subtext for subtext. Hell, right then, I only needed him brave enough to have the freaking conversation. “If you’re miserable and—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Avery.” I was seconds away from actually yelling. If he wanted to drive me up a wall, he was doing a fabulous job. And the worst thing was that I knew full well he was lying. Misery hovered over him like a thick cloud. Hell, even the air around us tasted chalky, like his pain was a tangible thing. “Stop dancing away from the talk we’ve needed to have for days. I want—”
“Fire!” And, of fucking course, right as I prepared to lay it all out for Avery, a shout went up, heads whirling, people running. Smoke. That wasn’t only Avery’s misery clogging my lungs. It was smoke.