Chapters (48)
- Cover
- PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
- Titles by Alexa Martin
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
I unlock my door and I drop my keys into the bowl. I walk straight to my room, where I promptly kick off my shoes, unbutton my pants, and take off my bra before heading into my bathroom. I turn on the hot water, staring at the stream until I see the steam starting to billow up from the porcelain sink.
Even though I wear makeup every day, I don’t love wearing it. Washing my face after work is one of my favorite parts of the day. I run the wet washcloth over my face, savoring the way the hot water stings before lathering my face wash between my palms.
After rinsing my face, I look into the mirror at my blotchy red skin that matches the red in my eyes. I just look so tired. The dark circles underneath my eyes that I’ve had since my dad’s diagnosis have gotten darker and the worry lines on my forehead seem to have only gotten deeper. It’s like all of the heavy shit in my life has made a permanent residence on my face.
It almost makes me want to put my makeup back on.
I guess if I do decide to pass out candy tonight, my makeup-free face could pass for a scary mask?
I’m putting away my face lotion when I hear a knock on my door.
I know they’re starting trick-or-treating hours earlier these days, but this just seems excessive. Maybe they have special toddler hours.
“One second!” I call out as I run to my kitchen and grab the bag of candy I’m planning on finishing tonight. “Happy Ha—” I cut myself off when instead of a young trick-or-treater standing at my door, it’s a not-so-young quarterback.
I really have to start using my fucking peephole!
“Quinton, um—hey.” I cross my arms over my braless chest, trying to scrub the image of my makeup-less face from my memory. “What are you doing here?”
“Let’s go, Reed.” He claps his large hands together before barreling into my condo. “Get your shoes, we have shit to do.”
“No we don’t.” I feel those frown lines I was just inspecting getting even deeper as my eyebrows scrunch together. “I didn’t see anything on the calendar.”
I might’ve been off my game today, but I’m positive we didn’t have a meeting. Since the launch party, we had managed to go down to meetings twice a week and then quick get-togethers before an interview to go over talking points. But other than the meeting where we saw the Rue, we don’t do Saturday meetings.