Page 27 of Yours Truly

“Simple,” Dolly comments on the dream.

“Perfect,” Juni replies.

Silence falls between us and I don’t know what they’re thinking about, but I’m definitely thinking about Trace. He doesn’t feel grounded, he doesn’t give off the energy that he wants to stay. Hell, he’s racing off to Oakcreek to drink almost nightly.

But I want him to stay.

For myself but for him, too. Bluebell could heal him.

I could heal him.

“I don’t think he was ever the same. He’d only loved her and he hasn’t been in love again…. He definitely loves Jack Daniel’s… and fucking random women.”

“Everly!” Dolly giggles. “You said fucking!”

“I say it all the fucking time when I’m drunk!” Ev laughs. “And stop full-naming me.” She grins wickedly. “I’m only Everly when I’m on my knees in the bedroom.”

“Hey!” Dolly laughs, slicing her hand through the air. “If I can’t talk about Hudson, you can’t talk about Deuce.”

“Deuce isn’t your brother!” Ev laughs, and their laughter has me and Juni laughing, too.

We eat and we talk, the conversation moving back to the chastity cage, then dominance, and then somehow we’re deciding who would win a naked wrestling match between Dwayne Johnson and Liam Hemsworth.

But the entire time, even with the flurry of booze in my veins and the high of being complimented on my work by Ev, all I can think about is Trace.

And his broken heart.

EIGHT

It’s time to get better.

Trace

“Sal, don’t forget the cooler by the door!”

“Ay, I won’t, I told you a thousand times I won’t forget it!”

“But you forgot it last week so don’t tell me you know, just grab the bag already!”

Shuffling and rustling, followed by four minutes of my upstairs neighbors arguing in a language I’m too hungover to decipher, and then they’re finally gone.

A sigh escapes me, and I roll onto my back, swiping my hands beneath the pillows to find the pockets of cool, undiscovered sheets. Thankfully there are no stupid birds building nests and chirping around here like at my last apartment in Hollywood, so when my eyes close again, I start drifting.

I’m on the cusp of sleep when a loud noise sounds at my front door.

“What is this fuckery? Is the world conspiring against me right now?” I roll out of bed and grab my gold watch, bringing it close to my eyes. It’s not even eight in the morning, and I’m pretty sure it’s fucking Saturday. “Whaaat?” I shout angrily while trudging through the apartment hallway, my foot catching a stray pair of panties from the floor. I kick the pink thong off, and it ends up on a lampshade. That makes me smile.

Without looking through the peephole because I’m not a wimp that needs to peek out front to make sure I’m safe, I yank open the door and find Deuce on the other side.

“It ain’t a work day,” I launch with no preamble. I’ve known Deuce for the better part of twenty years. We’ve said hello, hi, how’s it going enough for the rest of our lives. “It’s early and it’s Saturday. What?”

“Hello to you too, sweetheart.” He smiles, pushing past me in his leather jacket and blue jeans. God, so cliché. Then again, I guess I am too.

Fuck.

Leaving his boots on, Deuce sinks back into the couch, jerking forward to pull a woman’s bra out from under his ass. “I came to talk and since you’re part naked and definitely not strong enough to throw me out, you’re gonna listen.”

“I could throw you out.” I grab an old t-shirt off the countertop—one I took off in the throes of passion. By the way it smells, those throes were a few days ago. Maybe even a week. Boxers intact already, I sit down across from him on the edge of my coffee table. I’m not sure a cup of coffee has ever been on this table.

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