Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 131137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
She’d been just sixteen when she met Mason. She had been infatuated with him, practically worshipped him. He had told her he felt the same, that they were true mates. Still plagued by a feeling of emptiness after losing her twin, she had been so desperate to feel some sort of connection that she’d bought it hook, line, and sinker. Later she had realized that she had given her virginity to an asshole who liked to target young females and convince them they were true mates.
After that, she had flitted from guy to guy, never letting anything deeper develop. Not that she’d been a slut or anything, but she hadn’t been in a serious relationship—determined to wait for her true mate…a guy she had spent the past half year trying desperately to hate. She was failing miserably with that. How could she possibly hate her mate, even if he was a prick?
Well, at least she didn’t cry herself to sleep anymore. That was an improvement. She’d even started dating again. Not that the dates had amounted to anything, as apparently she was flypaper for losers lately. The world seemed to be against her meeting a decent guy. As much as it would make sense for Shaya to want to keep things simple and stick with meaningless encounters or short affairs after Nick hurt her the way he had, she wanted more than that.
Yes, part of it was that she wanted someone who could cancel out the mating cravings, someone who could fill the space that her true mate would never fill. But another part of it was that seeing her friends so happily mated made her hunger for the same. She wanted a guy who would care for her, a guy she could trust and depend on. Was that really so bad?
Apparently so. Either that or he simply didn’t exist. Ah, maybe that was it.
Shaya almost banged into the reception desk as a ticked-off Paisley accidentally-on-purpose bumped into her as she passed. Oh, for the love of God. Shaking her head, Shaya went over to her station to clean and tidy it. It was as she was sweeping up the hairs that were scattered on the floor that Paisley returned to her side.
“I was just wondering, have you always suffered from gingervitis?”
Shaya rolled her eyes. The red hair comments were a regular thing, and she was used to them at this point, though she was tempted to point out again that her hair wasn’t ginger in any case.
“I guess it must be nice being Ron Weasley’s sister, though.”
Sigh. “Seriously, Paisley, you don’t need to keep this up. I honestly couldn’t like you any less than I already do.” Shaya walked to the trash can and emptied the clump of hair into it before returning the brush and dustpan to the cupboard.
Paisley trailed behind her. “As if being a carrottop isn’t bad enough, you’re—”
Shaya sighed again. “Can’t you see I’m trying to pretend you’re not here? When you speak, you kill the illusion.”
Paisley curled her upper lip and made a move toward Shaya, but Kent was suddenly there. “That’s enough,” he told the blonde.
“She’s only been here, like, two minutes and everyone’s fussing over her!”
Shaya shrugged. “If what you want is the same treatment, maybe you could try working. Just sayin’.”
Snarling, Paisley sharply twirled and returned to the reception desk, but the comments didn’t stop. By the end of her shift, Shaya had come close to stabbing the blonde with her own scissors. Instead, she grabbed her things, gave Kent a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and left. As her car had died recently and she couldn’t afford to fix or replace it, she made the fifteen-minute walk to her home. For a change, her closest neighbor—who was a hundred yards away yet still managed to be a pain in her ass—wasn’t holding a house party that could wake the dead.
She let herself inside her home, secured the door shut behind her, hung her jacket on the coatrack, and kicked off her shoes with a groan of relief. The fluffy, magnolia-colored carpet felt amazing under her throbbing feet. Although coming back to an empty house never gave her any pleasure, it was certainly nice to let her feet breathe.
She had only walked two steps into the living area when she realized she wasn’t alone. At the same time as it registered just who the familiar scent belonged to, a deep, rumbly voice spoke.
“Do you always leave your windows open when you go out?”
Abruptly, she turned to the corner of the room and gaped at what she saw. A contradictory mixture of shock, pain, anger, and—though she hated it—a slither of happiness hit her, almost stealing her breath. Sprawled on one of her cream leather armchairs, with his arms crossed behind his head as if he owned the space around him, was the last person in the world Shaya wanted to see. Holy fucking shit.