Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Fuck you, you mother fucking asshole!” I reach down to pick up another rock, and just as I stand to throw it at him, he gets off his bike and stalks directly toward me, his helmet gripped tightly in his hand. When he reaches me, both my hands are fisted at my sides. I squeeze the rock, and his jaw tics before his lips thin, and he leans in closer.
“Leave, Pretty Lady.” His words are dripping with warning. “This life isn’t for you. Stay, and I’ll drag you down with me.” His words make my brain stop in its tracks, their gravity sinking in. Milo is probably one of the smartest people I know, and hearing him sends a chill down my spine. The intensity in his eyes is undeniable, and for a moment, I am frozen, caught between the urge to flee and the desire to stay despite the risks.
“Why would you drag me down?” I ask.
“You know why.”
I shake my head. “Tell me why you would drag me down,” I push.
“Because I would never let you go.” He turns and goes back to his bike.
Drag me down?
Little does he know, all he would have to do is ask, and I would willingly drop at his damn feet. “I’m falling for you, you fucking asshole,” I scream at his back.
“That would be a mistake,” he says, sitting on his bike and securing his helmet.
“Loving you is a mistake?” I ask.
He looks away from me and starts the bike. “Loving me is toxic.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can” are his last words before he drives off.
After walking into Letti’s apartment, I sit on the couch. Nothing much has changed, but you can tell a man lives here now. Mason’s smell is everywhere. His shoes are at the door, and his things are scattered throughout every room.
“How long are you planning to stay? I would have made your bed, but I didn’t know you were coming,” Letti asks as she sits down next to me and rubs her eyes.
“I only intended to fly in to finalize the divorce, but then I saw Milo.” I sigh.
“Yeah, he’s been even quieter and more broody since we got back. He stays at the clubhouse and hardly goes home.”
“He told me to go home and to not come back,” I inform her.
“Well, he has no right to say that to you. This is your home as much as it is mine.” I know she’s trying to side with me, but his words remain lodged in my mind.
I wanted him to want me.
That’s the issue.
I didn’t expect him not to.
“Can I shower?” I ask, standing up. “Oh, and can I stay?”
“Of course you can. I’ll get the bed ready. Take your time.”
I pick up my bag and head to the bathroom. Dropping the bag on the bathroom floor, I strip off my clothes. Turning the water as hot as possible, I step under it. The water heats up and burns my skin, but I don’t pull away.
Ever so slowly, anger starts to simmer within me. I’ve been angry at a man before—my husband, for sure. But Milo evokes a different type of anger, one I can’t quite put into words. It’s deeper and more complex, and I struggle to fully understand it or even describe it. This anger isn’t just about hurt feelings. It’s entangled with severe disappointment, frustration, and a sense of loss. Milo has touched something I didn’t know existed, stirring emotions that leave me feeling raw, exposed, and open.
After quickly washing myself, I step out and dry off. I reach for whatever clean clothes I have before I pull the door open to find Letti there, holding some bedsheets.
“Can I borrow your car?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“Lissie,” she calls out as I turn away. I stop and look back at her. “Please be safe.” I don’t answer, so she waves me off. “Bye.”
I try to calm myself down on the drive to the clubhouse. It’s getting late, and the sun has already set. When I pull into the driveway, I find Morris standing there waiting for me. He has a beer in his hand, and he shakes his head when I turn off the car. Letti must have warned him that I was coming because he didn’t look surprised to see me.
“Lissie, really?” he asks as I shut the car door.
“Where is he?”
“I didn’t tell him you were coming. He’s had too much to drink.” I swing my head in his direction. Milo will drink, but he never has too much. Not since I’ve known him. “You can leave and walk away; he will never know you were here.”
“But I am here,” I say.
Striding past him, I don’t stop when I reach the bar area. I look around until I spot Milo. He’s sitting on a stool at the bar, a drink in one hand, the other hand running through his hair. He’s alone.