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Chapter 3
Addie
Istared at my true love with hungry eyes.
You know how people claim that someone, somewhere, held the other half of your soul? Well I found mine.
Hot, steamy, delicious.
Smiling contently, I took a sip of my coffee. The heat burned going down my throat, but it was worth it.
Coffee was life.
I stared up at the sinewy man, blinking my eyes innocently when he cocked his hip out. George Farman was two-hundred pounds of sass in an eighty-pound body.
“Are you even listening, or are you too busy orgasming?”
With a huff, I put my precious coffee cup down on my bedside table.
“Of course I’m listening.”
“Then what did I just say?”
“You asked me if I was listening or orgasming,” I replied innocently, and George rolled his eyes. Surprisingly, I didn’t hate the therapist my parents had hired for me. He was a sarcastic asshole, sure, but he wasn’t cruel. I actually enjoyed our sessions together, though I had yet to talk about anything of importance.
The last few weeks had consisted of cat videos, stories of my bladder, and relationship advice. George listened to it all with only the slighted snort of complaint.
I would call that a win.
“I heard that your new physical therapist is arriving today.” He nodded towards my leg, now free of the restrictive cast. Despite the doctor assuring me that my body had healed (at least as well as it could’ve), I found that I was unable to walk without help. Daddy had believed that it was my own stubbornness prohibiting such a movement, thus the need for a therapist.
That could be true. My depression had worsened considerably since I had left the guys. Though I still texted them everyday and visited them when my parents were away, I felt an unbearable loneliness that threatened to eat me alive. Depression was a fickle fucker.
It had been two and a half weeks since I was forcibly separated from the guys I was beginning to consider my only friends. My parents had moved us into a large villa, adjacent to the lake. My room itself, unchanged from when the previous owner had occupied it, had coral painted walls and light blue furniture. My bedspread was a tacky pink. It was this hideous bed that I was currently lying on, arms crossed stubbornly over my chest. So far, George had been smart enough not to ask me about my feelings. I might kill him if he did.
“So are we done now?” I asked, once again ignoring whatever he had been saying. George narrowed his pinprick brown eyes at me, so dark they were almost black.
“Yes,” he snapped at last, moving to his feet. “We’re done.”
Without another word, he stormed from my bedroom. That was pretty standard with him. I would say something to piss him off, and he would run out of the room with a few choice words.
It was a very healthy relationship.
Sighing, I turned towards my bedside table. It honestly held my entire life, for it was immensely difficult to move anywhere without the help of someone. My phone, coffee (heaven’s gift to mankind), and an assortment of chocolate that the guys had snuck through my window resided on there.
It was the phone I grabbed, scrolling through the messages with a tiny grin. I couldn’t help the instinctive schoolgirl giggles that erupted from me as I read through the thread.
Ryder: Kitten! Ronan Beijing mean.
Ryder: *being
Ryder: stupid spell check
Ronan: the ugly asshole locked me in a fucking cage
Ryder: He’s farting on my face until I pass out!
Ryder: it smells
