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)
“He’s not a kid.”
Ollie bursts into laughter. “That’s what you’ve been calling him for years. I knew it was too emphatic.”
“You’re having way too much fun with this.”
“You’re two of my best friends. It’d be cool. I mean, I will miss you when Matt and Noah hire a hitman to take you out, but until then, it’ll be good for both of you.”
“How much did Jet tell you about his ex?” I ask.
“Not a lot. Just that he was a guy on tour with the Eleven crew.”
Yeah, that’s what he told me too. “I think there’s more to the story he’s not telling us.”
“He probably doesn’t want to be seen as weak. Jet can put on a convincing front.”
I don’t want him to put on a front with me.
“Go,” Ollie says. “We should take some of those shots so Jet doesn’t end up in a Fijian hospital with alcohol poisoning.”
Good point.
We make our way back to the table, and I drink down a shot while I hand one to Ollie. Then we take another. That should help.
Jet’s surrounded by the others, so I can’t get close, but when I catch his gaze, I mouth, “You okay?”
He replies by taking another shot and then lifting the empty glass in the air.
Big brother logic: they’re overprotective as fuck when it comes to Jet, but they can handfeed him a shit ton of alcohol.
Confusing much?
Bitter much? a voice says in the back of my head.
It’s no secret I’d rather have Jet outside, pinned against that wall.
But clearly, that’s not going to happen again tonight. And if he keeps drinking the way he is, I have no hope of it happening later when we get back to our island.
Drinks flow to the point the music thrums in my veins and my head feels the right amount of fuzzy.
When Matt and Noah drunkenly stumble toward the bathrooms, I assume they’re going to hook up in there, so I have some time.
I slide into the seat next to Jet and lean in close to his ear. “How are you holding up? I think I’ve seen you drink a gallon of tequila.”
Jet inches closer and looks up at me with glassy eyes. “I’m a rock star. I could drink any of you under the table.”
“You’re looking kinda drunk.”
“Eh. Tispy.”
“Tispy?” I laugh. “Not tipsy?”
“Yeah. That. But s’all good. I drink a lot on tour. Mainly when we have good nights. I’ve always found drinking to escape is like a huge rabbit hole I don’t want to go down, you know?”
“That ship has sailed tonight, my friend.”
Jet grins. “Friend. That’s cool. We can be friends. Friends who have fun.”
“That’s the plan … or so I’ve been told.”
“It’s a good plan.”
At least we’re on the same page.
I have the sudden urge to lean in and kiss his cute button nose, but I refrain.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, and I lift my head to see Matt and Noah on their way back. “Guess I better move.”
Jet pouts. “Guess so.”
“We’ll catch up later back on our island. You should hang with your brothers.”
He lets me go, and I make my way over to Ollie to ask him to dance some more. He has a partner who won’t dance, and I have someone I can’t dance with without drawing attention.
Still, song after song, my gaze can’t help finding Jet’s again and again.
I don’t know his exact intentions with this whole ‘let’s have fun’ thing, but at this point, I’m willing to accept whatever he’ll give me.
In the history of the longest nights ever, this might go down as one of my top three. The first was a game in the playoffs that went into five overtime periods. The second was that night three years ago with Jet. I’d lost the Cup, I’d found a stranger who already meant more to me than my love of hockey before I even knew his name, and then we spent an incredible night together.
I remember every touch. Every word. I held on to everything he was saying because, in my eyes, he was this perfect symbol of life. And change. And fighting to be yourself in a world that rejected you.
Still, tonight is a close third.
Because all I want to do is be back there again.
When the others finally call it, I’m more than ready to get back so I can hang out with Jet.
Only, it becomes obvious he’ll be in no shape to do anything. Matt and Noah hold him up, each taking one of his arms, and we’re lucky we picked a time to leave while it’s high tide because the ladder to the pontoon is several inches shorter than it was when we arrived.
Jet keeps insisting he’s fine, but he sways on his feet. He’s not the only one who’s in bad shape.