Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“It’s the thought that counts, Wolf. Everyone wants to write a book, but do you know how many people finish one?”
“Nope…” The minty scent of his breath washed over my face, and my gaze flicked to his lips before I forced it back to his eyes.
When we were this close, it was hard not to fall into old habits, but that wasn’t what this was. He was simply a good person offering comfort to an old friend.
“Point is, he’s a tortured artist dog. Stewie is a psychopath baby.”
My fingers subconsciously flexed against his shirt, his chest warming my palm. “And that’s why I love Stewie. He’s an evil genius. He’d grow up to be a British world dictator.”
“He’s not British.”
I twisted to look at him. “What?”
“The Griffins are American.”
“Stewie is British. Which, granted, is weird. I’m sorry, how have you been watching this for like, ten years, and not realized this?”
He narrowed his eyes at the laptop for a moment, listening to the very British accent. “What the fuck… I just thought he talked like a smart person.”
I laughed at the utter confusion on his face. “Wow.” It felt good to laugh, to have a meaningless conversation that wasn’t all doom and gloom. It felt like…before. Before everything started going to shit and we suddenly became strangers. Before he’d changed his number and cut me out. Except he hadn’t…
This whole time, I’d been walking around, thinking I meant nothing to him. That he hated me for leaving him, for wanting a break. After I’d gotten off the phone with my mom, I’d checked my blocked contacts, and sure enough, there was Wolf’s number—bar one digit—saved as “sales call” and blocked. I hadn’t done it. Which begged the question, who had? No one had access to my phone or knew the password, aside from maybe Monroe and Cassie. The number of nights I’d cried, praying for a message from him, an olive branch. And yet, the entire time, he’d been trying to message me.
Those texts I’d seen on his phone earlier had been sent weeks and months apart. As though the pain had caught up with him intermittently and he’d had to message. Even knowing it wouldn’t go through. Even when he was with Nora…
Any one of those “I miss yous” would have had me running back into his arms in a heartbeat. Instead, we’d both spent the past year on the same campus, thinking the other person had hated them enough to cut contact.
Anger bubbled away inside me that someone would do that. I was mad for myself but also for Wolf. Those messages… He was heartbroken.
“I didn’t change your number or block you,” I said, needing him to know. “So, someone else must have somehow.”
“I have a good idea who.”
I glanced up through the dark at him, the light from the laptop screen flickering over his clenched jaw. “Who?”
He deadpanned me. “Come on, Jade.”
I could only think of one person. A big factor in my wanting a break from Wolf was my own insecurity, and Cassie was always an advocate for my “realizing my worth.” Surely she wouldn’t have done that, though… But obviously, I lived with her, and I had probably given her my passcode to change music or something.
“Cassie?” It was plausible.
Monroe would never. If anything, she was pro-Wolf. I could see how Cassie might have thought she was helping…
“No. Sack-of-shit Brent.”
Frowning, I focused on a wrinkle on his T-shirt. “He didn’t know my passcode.” And I never let him have my phone because I didn’t want him to snoop through any of my pictures. All the ones of Wolf and me that I could never bring myself to delete.
“Your passcode is your birthday, Jade. Or at least, it was.”
I hadn’t changed it since I was fifteen. God, I was probably a hacker’s wet dream. Chompy95 was my password for pretty much everything—Chompy being my former pet hamster. And yeah, anything with numbers was always my birthday. “Yeah, well, I probably told you that sometime. I did not tell Brent.”
“You didn’t. I saw you type it in once.”
Well, that was sneaky. I didn’t think Brent would stoop that low. Sure, he was a cheating asshole, but I couldn’t see him doing that.
A loud bang came from the hallway. Squishy shot to the end of the bed, his fur sticking up like a porcupine as he growled.
“I can fucking hear it!” Rogue shouted before silence descended.
I listened intently for whatever supposed sound he could hear. Nothing came but the canned laughter from the laptop speakers.
“Has he finally lost it?” I whispered to Wolf.
Wolf sat up to pause the laptop, bringing me with him. “Fuck knows.”
“Listen,” Rogue’s voice floated through the door.
Even with the laptop off, I still couldn’t hear anything.
“You don’t hear that? It’s filthy little claws tap-tap-tapping.” Rogue sounded a full sandwich short of a picnic.