Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
London tilted her head back and forth as if she were trying to find an argument with that logic and was having a hard time. So I forged ahead.
"Plus, he'd keep it a secret," I said. "That, I’m absolutely sure of. What with my father's completely off-limits clause in his locker room speeches. And honestly, who better to have your first time with than Hendrix Malone?"
London parted her pink lips, then shut them. Her eyes met mine. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
I grinned at my friend, my heart racing with exhilaration. I honestly didn't have a fucking clue what I was doing. But I threw back the rest of my vodka soda, drinking down the liquid courage. There was this rush of relief at the idea of finally ridding myself of this title that had left me vulnerable to the pain Trevor inflicted.
“I’m taking ownership of my V-card. And who I give it to."
London sipped from her pink drink. "Well, you know I am an expert on that," she said, a little hint of sarcasm coating her sweet voice. "You know, since I've had sex all of once before." She shook her head, that old frustration popping behind her eyes. She was almost as notorious as I was, but that was a whole other bag of worms to unpack. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."
And I loved her for that. Honestly, she was the best friend a girl could ask for. But right now, I needed her to see the brilliance in this plan. This sporadic, brilliant, totally fucking mad plan. "You can't harm what you can't have," I said, shrugging. "Like I said, my heart's not at play, just this stupid little title. And once that's done?" I slid my palms together as if I were tapping out of an argument. "I won’t have that cloud hanging over me. Then people like Trevor and his buddies will have no power over me. No bets left to make."
Anger and sadness swirled in her eyes, but she nodded. She stepped out of my line of sight, leaning against the marble bar once again. And we both looked to where Hendrix was finishing up chatting with Roman.
London let out a little giggle that was ninety percent sugar and ten percent sour.
"What is funny?" I asked.
London took another long sip of her drink, barely containing her laughter. "Oh, I just simply can't wait to hear if the rumors about Hendrix Malone are true."
A warm shiver danced down my spine, my breath catching with anticipation. Just imagining Hendrix’s lips on my skin did things to my body. We’d had an innocent dance only minutes ago, and I couldn't shake his touch even now. Even after the vodka soda. And I couldn't deny the one singular need crashing through my mind, my soul.
I wanted him.
I wanted him so badly I could almost taste him.
So I smoothed my hands over my butterfly gown and winked at my friend. "Stay tuned."
My heels once again clicked along the marble as I followed Hendrix, who had just turned down a long corridor, leaving Roman and his buddies behind.
And with each step closer, my heart pounded a little harder, each beat crying out for the same thing —
Hendrix, Hendrix, Hendrix.
3
Hendrix
"Somehow, you've managed to slip into an even fouler mood," Roman noted as I glared into the crowd of dancers from our table.
"I'm fine," I assured him, even though it was a lie. What else was I supposed to say? I’d just spent the better part of twenty minutes telling my best friend that I was done with anonymous sex, only to now be annoyed that I couldn't find the woman from the dance floor? I was a hypocrite.
"Well, you don't look fine." He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I am." Great. Now it sounded like every argument I'd ever gotten into with a girlfriend. I was my own girlfriend.
"Right." He drew out the word slowly but looked away.
"You know, I think I'm going to grab some air." I slammed back the last of my champagne and set the glass on the table.
"Okay. Don't get lost."
I headed away from the driving beat of the music, slipping down the hallway of the gallery toward the back entrance. Maybe it was the sound of music, with a lingering scent of the machine smoke in the air, but I swore I could still taste that almost kiss. I'd never been driven that completely wild by not-a-kiss my entire life.
The farther I got from the music, the more silent my surroundings became until I could hear my individual footsteps on the shiny marble floor.
I passed one of the smaller galleries on my right and peeked in on the darkened, private space. Only the pieces were illuminated, and though I'd never truly been a fan of modern art, the painting on the far end caught my eye. It was a riot of colors, the paint coming together in a loose interpretation of wings.