Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
She’s right.
The last thing I’m thinking about right now is hate.
Gemma
Kissing Two Sheridan feels good. Really good. I’m not sure how we got to this point, but I’m not hating it one bit. Neither is he, no matter how much he wants to.
We have chemistry.
There’s no denying that.
My face feels raw from his scruff and my eyes burn from my tears. There’s no stopping this kiss, though. I ache for him to slip his hand under my hoodie again. This time, I won’t stop him.
He pulls away almost angrily, a growl rumbling from him. “We have to stop.”
I lean toward him, silently begging for another kiss. “Why?”
“Because if I keep kissing you like this, I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He steals another quick kiss. “I want things I don’t have any business wanting.”
I groan, tugging at his hoodie to pull him nearer. “I want it too.”
My heart races inside my chest. Do I? I’ve never had sex before. Do I really want my first time to be with Two? A guy who hated me until now?
Yes.
“I’m serious,” Two says, voice firm. “I need time to think about this. So do you. Can we just work on our project for a bit?”
Rejection washes over me. He’s right, though. I know he’s right. In this moment, kissing him feels right. But how will I feel later when I’m alone. Will I regret this moment?
It’s definitely possible.
After what he told me about Mom and the adoption stuff, my mind is a mess.
Two reaches up and cups my cheek, his gray eyes searching mine. “I like kissing you, Golden.”
I can’t help but grin at his words. He doesn’t give me time to preen at them because he’s already breaking away. As he suggested, he begins unloading our boxes we filled from Hemingford Hall onto one of the tables, getting straight to work.
The kiss is soon pushed aside as we distract ourselves with our project. While Two assembles the supplies, I work on taking pictures from my phone of the different pictures we brought with us. One picture is of Alexander Heming and Edgar Ford looking dapper in their fancy old-timey suits, both of them grinning with mischief.
They were definitely a couple.
I can tell by their clear affection for each other in the picture.
Our plan is to use the pictures for our model, scaling them way down and printing them for miniature picture frames we’ll be making. Two made a list of all the tasks for our model and is starting on that while I work on some of the other aspects of our project. We spend hours making progress, neither of us letting our buzzing phones distract us.
It’s just me and Two and all things Hemingford Hall.
Headlights flicker through the window, jolting Two. He jerks his head up, glances down at his watch, and then curses.
“What?” I ask with a yawn. “Who is it?”
“Probably Dad.” He strides over to the window and peers out. “As soon as he goes into the house, we have to leave.”
I frown at him. “Why?”
“Because,” he hisses, gesturing at me. “He can’t see you.”
Reality seeps its way back into my brain. It makes sense now why he didn’t want me meeting them in the first place. Two is protecting his dads from the hurt my name and face will bring. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.
“Fuck, someone’s coming.”
“I’ll hide,” I tell him, ready to crawl under one of the tables.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll deal with him.”
He steps outside and then I hear his voice along with another, though I can’t make out what they’re saying. I check my messages to find that I’ve missed a lot of them.
Tate: Coffee date with me and Willa?
Tate: We had to go without you because you never answered.
Willa: I miss you. Come see me and Bane soon!
Dempsey: Want to go to Seattle with me next month for an art thing? Sloane has to work.
Spencer: Rex learned how to say shit. Dad’s not happy.
Mom: You’re working really hard lately. I’m proud of you but you need to take some time for yourself. Spa day soon, sweetie?
Dad: Bring your project partner in the house next time so we can meet her. Your mom says you’re spending a lot of time with her.
Mom: Packages arrived for you today from Sephora and a couple of other places. Let me know if you want me to open them for you.
Jude: Dad wants me to vet out your friend. What’s her first and last name?
Dempsey: Beauty shit on the couch! How do you get shit out of fabric? Ask Mom! Hurry, I have to get this shit cleaned up before Sloane sees!
Dempsey: Never mind. Mom’s coming over to help me. Thanks for all your help, womb mate.
I don’t even know where to start on responding to them all. If my text messages are this out of hand, I can’t begin to imagine what’s going on with my socials. Knowing I’ll need to get on tonight and do a live at the very least feels exhausting.