Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Rowin cleans a popped blister, and Farrow has been trying to keep Ben’s fever down. I watch as Rowin says something to my boyfriend.
But I’m out of earshot.
I notice Farrow rolling his eyes and replying back. He snaps off his gloves.
You don’t know how much I dislike Rowin Hart. I wouldn’t put him in the Voldemort category, but my aversion towards Farrow’s ex-boyfriend has been a rising tide. Especially now that Farrow is officially on the med team with Rowin.
These feelings I feel—it’s not jealousy.
It’s fear.
Rowin isn’t pining after my boyfriend. It’s clear that he despises Farrow, and I see that raw, emotional pain flare up in Rowin’s eyes every time he converses with him. It puts me on edge. On guard.
After all the shit Farrow and I have gone through, I can’t let his ex hurt him. Physically, verbally, all of the fucking above.
“Happy Birthday, Moffy.” My uncle’s smooth voice tears my glare away from Rowin.
Connor towers above me in navy swim trunks, his poise and stature god-like. My dad jokes about how Uncle Connor is immortal since he only looks better with age.
“Thanks,” I say to him.
Today is July 13th, and I’m now twenty-three-years-old. If I contemplate that too hard, I’ll fall into some sort of philosophical stupor. So I try not to.
And I think there must be something else my uncle wants. Connor could’ve just yelled happy birthday across the yacht deck like half my family already did. Which has been a good distraction. Seriously. Every time I start thinking about all the outside bullshit, someone else howls happy birthday, Moffy! and tears me back to real life. To right here. Right now.
Connor squats so we’re more eye-level. “The lawyers just called me,” he says. “They’ve stopped most of the pictures from leaking. All that exists is the one photo, and that’ll be it.” His deep blue eyes soften with soothing powers. “I’m so sorry.”
The one photo.
It was my full frontal. But in the one that’s been circulating, my crotch was blurred, and as far as I know, no one has been able to find the uncensored image.
I should be happy that the world hasn’t seen my dick. But really, I hate that a money-hungry company has tarnished one of the best weeks of my life.
So no, I’m not really happy.
But I also recognize I’m talking to a man that had much worse happen to him. “Thanks for the help,” I tell my uncle. “I guess I should be glad it wasn’t worse.”
“A violation of privacy is a violation,” Uncle Connor says. “It doesn’t matter the severity. It’s okay to be upset, even in front of me.”
When he was in his twenties, sex videos of him and his soon-to-be wife were illegally recorded and released. And Christ, I just can’t imagine that type of invasion. If Farrow and I had been filmed and that leaked, I’d be devastated. It’s why our families are uneasy around porn companies.
“I’m not upset, I’m pissed,” I tell Connor. “Like really goddamn pissed.” I run a hand through my wet hair. “But I don’t want to talk about it. I just…want to forget it.”
Uncle Connor nods, understanding. “If you ever change your mind”—he rises to stand—“I’m always here.”
I thank him again, and he walks off towards the saloon. Eighteen-year-old Tom and Eliot jump out from behind the mini bar, trying to scare him, and their dad just blinks at them. Unfazed.
I try to spot Farrow through the glass doors. But I don’t see him.
Suddenly, water splashes behind me. Wetting my paperback.
I feel his hands on my waist and his chin on my shoulder. His chest presses up against my back, and I try to restrain a smile.
But I fail as soon as he places a kiss on the side of my neck. “You’re tense, wolf scout,” he breathes, kneading my muscles with the heel of his palm. Goddamn.
My waist knocks into the pool wall, my blood hot. Craning my head over my shoulder, I catch the amusement in his eyes. His bleach-white hair looks darker wet, and beads of water roll down the light stubble on his jaw and inked wings on his neck.
His barbell piercing rises at me with his brown brows. But his smile fades fast. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“You and Rowin.”
He cringes, but he doesn’t drop his hands. “Not my favorite phrase. Let’s actually remove it from your lexicon.”
“You work together,” I remind him. “You’re going to be around him, and my trust level with strangers has about plummeted to negative-infinity.”
He nods slowly, and his hands work their magic on my traps, gentle on my bad shoulder. Whatever he’s doing feels too damn good.
I add, “You shouldn’t be around someone who’s made it clear they literally hate you. Not only is that a toxic work environment, but Christ, he could fucking hurt you.” I have more to say. So I abandon my paperback.