Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I give her an unimpressed look, and she tries not to laugh. Now, she’s outright teasing me.
“I need to take Honey. Will you be okay without her?” he says.
“We can make do,” she replies.
“I can finish my shift,” I argue. Even though I requested to meet up with Dawson, I didn’t mean during my shift.
Alana raises her hand. “It’s fine, Honey. You’ve been picking up extra shifts while Talia has been sick. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She wiggles her eyebrows. I’m almost gobsmacked by her audacity in front of Dawson, who seems unfazed by the insinuation.
As I walk past her to the back to collect my things, I whisper, “I thought you were warning me away from Dawson only weeks ago.”
Her smile is wide as she replies, “But I’m also a total gossip and a married woman living vicariously through everyone else.”
“Shameless.” I laugh. “But it’s not like that.”
“If you say so,” she sings out as I collect my things from the locker. “Quick, you better sneak off before your not-boyfriend comes and picks you up.”
I bite my lip, trying to hide the smile.
Officially, Marco returned to Italy. We dropped him off at the airport yesterday, and despite how much I wanted to see him go, I was also sad to see him leave. He was everything familiar to me. He had always been there for me. There was a lot of back and forth with my father, but he’d finally agreed to Rya’s new deal. The terms included that when I return to Italy, Marco would be by my side again. And if so much as a slip-up happened while I was still in New York, he would return.
Despite it all, I genuinely think Marco was grateful. Not that he would ever admit it, because, you know, duty and all. But he could finally spend time with his wife and children. I feel guilty for taking so much of him up until this point.
Dawson is inspecting items near the door. When I appear beside him, he opens the door for me. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His usual smooth demeanor is slightly off. And to most, he probably looks the same as usual, but I can sense the exhaustion that lies beneath.
When he walks toward the car, I stop him.
“Just a drink down the road? I need to talk to someone before I go crazy. And you’re kind of the only person I have.”
He looks back to his car and then pockets his keys. “Lead the way,” he says, waving his arm. Today, he is dressed in a blue suit with a long, dark blue coat. I pull my coat tighter around me as we walk down the street. We stop at the nearest bar and find a seat at the back.
He’s still acting normal. Whatever normal looks like between us. But I sense I’m the only one carrying the weight of what happened that night. Then again, he does this often. I suppose I should be grateful that he can make the time for me.
“So, what’s up?” he asks, motioning the waitress over. She stops at the end of the table and takes our order. I request a glass of Moscato, and Dawson orders whiskey on ice. “And are you sure you’re allowed to spend time with me, especially without your bodyguard? I know Rya has reservations about us meeting,” he says.
I nervously bite my lip. “Well, Rya isn’t in charge of me. And Marco left for Italy. Turns out, I get a sliver of freedom.”
Dawson’s lips kick up in a smile. “Except for the gentleman at the table behind you who is closely watching us, right?”
I go to turn but stop myself. I don’t need to see what he looks like, and I agreed to my phone being tracked. And although it’s still annoying to know I’m being monitored, I agreed to Rya’s and Crue’s terms. At least he’s attempting to be discreet. “Small victories.” I shrug. I don’t know how long I’ll be in New York, but I can at least cling to the illusion of being free.
“Anyway, I know this is awkward, but I think we are past that stage. I mean, I bit your dick, turned you down, then asked you to find someone to take my virginity.”
Dawson’s quiet at first as if he’s surprised by how blatant I’m being, but a smile slowly blooms on his lips.
“Yes, awkward isn’t really our thing now, is it,” he agrees. The waitress delivers our drinks, and I pick up my glass of wine and down it all. She stares at me, and silently, Dawson raises two fingers to order another two glasses.
“Or should I just order a bottle, Honey?”
I shake my head and wait for her to leave, and then words spill from me, “I enjoyed what happened that night. Is that bad? I mean, it hurt, but I enjoyed it.” His gaze darkens at my words. “Please don’t act weird. I need someone to talk to, and you’re it.”