Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
No security work. Took the day off.
Joint therapy sesh with Luna + her therapist (survive and thrive)
Drop Luna off at Cobalt bros in Hell’s Kitchen.
Stay with Luna in Hell’s Kitchen. See if Beckett wants to hit the gym? (it’s his day off from the ballet)
Notes: The time has come, the walrus said. Can’t remember the whole poem. Think the walrus eats someone’s babies? Idk, but I’m not being eaten today. The therapy sesh will come and go with me looking better than ever. Think it’ll be chill. Luna said Dr. Raven won’t prod me to overshare if I’m not ready.
Baby Ripley turned 2 on the 15th. Farrow & Maximoff got offered to sell the birthday party pics to Famous Now. For 1.5 mil! A lotta money for a 2-yr-old smashing a cupcake. No fancy party. Just family at the penthouse. Party was dope af, tho.
Filming for WAC has started back up. Got asked if I wanna be credited as “Luna’s boyfriend” and do interviews, but Luna wants to pull out of the season. I also do *not* want to rehash the Night to Forget with production. So I’m out too.
About Luna: Spooning her at night is a masterclass in restraint. Cock wants in her. Brain says, not yet.
Other news! Quinnie is testy with me lately. Not sure why, other than he knows I have bad feelings about his gf. Maybe he’s just angry Scooter spent the night in the Rookie Room.
Do not like that for Froggy.
Do not like *him* for Froggy.
Also!! Media is 100% obsessed with the Kitsulletti pregnancy and guessing the paternity b/w Banks & Akara. Sulli’s been camping out in the penthouse to avoid the chaos. Another reason not to have kids? Think so.
Thatch made chicken parm yesterday for the penthouse fam. (Love him.) Can’t believe he’s still suspended tho. Gabe’s been rocking Jane’s detail mostly. I think? Not always walkin’ the SFO streets these days.
Epsilon sucks.
That’s all.
Meals: Chewing on my feelings in therapy.
Water: GF’s Pussy: Tasted her last night *chef’s kiss* Will prob touch her again today. Gotta quench the gf’s thirst. Doing the Lord’s work.
Question of the Day: How many times can I make Luna come in an hour? Does a fairy die when you go on Lily Calloway’s shit list? Am I that fairy?
32
PAUL DONNELLY
“Can you say something?” Luna asks in a near-whisper from the passenger seat. We’re en route to New York to see the Cobalts. Done with therapy in Philly. I’m driving an SUV. Luna bought the Volvo: Black Edition earlier this month. It’s a fucking beautiful car. Rides smooth, but she likes its safety rating the most. High marks.
The car isn’t what’s pressing me.
I can’t even count how many minutes of silence we’ve sat in. I only now realize it’s dead quiet. Without taking my eyes off the freeway, I hand her my phone. “You wanna play some music?”
“Yeah,” she says really, really quietly.
Yeah, I hear her. I’ve always been able to hear her.
I try not to wince.
I don’t look at her, but I can feel her studying me before she scrolls through my Spotify.
I exhale a short breath, run my fingers through my hair, clench the wheel. “Been thinking I might need therapy for therapy. Is that normal?” I say it lightly, but it’s not such a joke.
She knows it. “What part did you not like? Because I thought it went pretty well.”
My muscles are too tight, and I adjust my posture in the seat, not able to get comfortable. It’s not you, car. Promise. “I dunno.”
I do know. I just don’t know how to talk about it.
Luna goes silent in contemplation. She wants me to discuss this—no, I think she needs me to. She’s faster to speak and asks, “Did you hate every part?”
“No…I like that she seemed supportive of you learning more about past events if that’s what you want to do.”
Silence falls again, not the type that’s easy to share.
Paparazzi aren’t tailing us, but Frog and Quinn are. I switch lanes. They mimic my moves in their security vehicle. I hit the cruise control.
Luna still hasn’t found a song. Probably because she’d rather talk.
I rub my mouth a couple times, then grip the wheel again. “I didn’t like what she said after she realized I could hear you,” I tell her, my voice nearly hollowed out. Why is this so hard for me to discuss? I feel like it gives it permanence, and I just want it to fade away.
Luna wracks her brain. “That part?” She’s surprised. “Why?”
“She was sitting there analyzing my breathing, the way I was sitting, and how I responded to you—and the second I heard you whispering, she had something to say about it?” I shake my head a couple times. My voice isn’t rising. It’s nose-diving, and now I’m trying not to whisper. “I could hear you and understand you because you were sitting right next to me. There wasn’t some deeper meaning to it, and I didn’t like that she was trying to pull one out.”