Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Of course,” I agreed. Even if I’d been secretly hoping we could have a repeat of the whole coloring my back thing. Hell, I wasn’t above getting another tattoo or two for her to use as a canvas. Maybe even places more erotic…
No.
Jesus.
I needed to get a grip.
Bonnie’s bedroom was somehow even cozier than her living room. Lots of plush drapes on the windows, a corner recliner, and a bed covered in a borderline absurd number of blankets, pillows, and those big squishy animal pillows. Though it didn’t escape my notice that the bed itself was a full. Sure, you could sleep on a full with a partner. But it would be cramped.
Everything about Bonnie’s life said she didn’t share it with men. Or, at least, not real ones. She had the fictional ones on lock.
Lord knew it had nothing to do with looks. She was a fucking smoke show. She just… didn’t put herself out there. And I found that both a little sweet—because there was something endearing about her cozy, quiet life—but also a little sad. Because she was missing out on a lot of fun and happiness and connection.
I didn’t think, as I dropped onto her bed and pulled a plush to my chest to watch her shove clothes in her biggest bag, that she genuinely wanted to be as isolated as she clearly was. She was just… shy and fearful. And worried that people would judge her for her anxiety.
Well, I had the girl for a solid week, if not more. And if there was one thing I was good at, it was fun.
And if there was one thing she could find in the club and the family surrounding it, it was community, inclusion, friendship, and people who would accept her just as she was.
Sure, it was fucked up how she came to arrive at the club. But we sure as hell could make it up to her. Me more than anyone else.
Though, I reminded myself as I followed her into the living room, watching as she shoved a ton of shit into the large purse—and a few more books into her clothes bag, actually discarding a sweater to fit them—that the fun I was about to show her was not going to include the naked kind I was having a hard time not obsessing over.
CHAPTER TEN
Bonnie
The rest of that day involved Sully actually clearing out a drawer in his dresser for me and relocating a third of his Hawaiian shirt collection to a shelf for me to hang my clothes, eating the takeaway feast his club brothers had ordered, and explaining to a few of said men what a gem art painting was and why I didn’t just do paint-by-numbers instead. The answer mostly being that gems didn’t require water.
Just when I thought I might get a little alone time with Sully, though, his president pulled him away. And, feeling awkward around the other guys, I excused myself back to Sully’s room.
But he didn’t return.
It was stupid, but I kind of hoped he would come back with me. We would watch more movies. Maybe he could sleep there again.
And as illogical as it was, since I was someone who did very much enjoy their own company, the longer he was gone, the more I felt my anxiety growing. It was the complete opposite of how I usually felt around people.
I went to bed early, just wanting an escape from the swirling negative thoughts that buzzed louder and louder in my ears with each passing moment.
I figured a nightmare would wake me up.
But, no.
It was music.
I grumbled at it, too sleepy to remember it wasn’t just my loud neighbors.
But this wasn’t their usual screamo music.
No, this was something vaguely familiar—about limes and coconuts.
My eyelids fluttered open just in time to see Sully throwing open the door holding a Bluetooth speaker in his hand and wearing—I kid you not—a women’s purple and black silk duster.
“What…” I started, sitting up.
“Come on. We have limes to put inside coconuts.”
“Am I drunk?” I asked, his words not making any sense.
“Not yet. But that is the goal,” he declared, dancing closer, then thrusting out his free hand to reveal another duster, this one in a baby yellow with lots of lace fringe. “We’re having midnight margaritas. And you have to put this on.”
“Why?” I asked, taking it because he was wiggling it in my face.
“I don’t know actually. The aesthetic,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the air.
“Is it really midnight?” I asked, throwing off the covers because, well, time with Sully sounded a lot better than restless sleep alone.
“On the dot. I may or may not have been waiting in the hall until the time was right,” he added with a boyish smile as I slipped into my duster.
“Okay. Now what?”