Winter had set in just in time for the Thanksgiving holiday. The glass was cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the liquor burning in my chest. I pressed my cheek against my bedroom window and watched the lonely street below. How many times could a song be listened to on repeat? If there was a limit, I was approaching mine. I brought the tumbler of scotch to my lips, taking another sip as the Frou Frou song playing from the Spotify app on my phone started up again. And maybe – just maybe – if the air were cleared and all our secrets bared, there could still be a chance for us.Īnd this dirty, filthy thing between us might end up being love after all. He doesn’t know this yet, but this time I’m the one with the power. But there’s an ocean between us, and I’m not sure it can be crossed with something as easy as a phone call or a plane ride. It’s dirty and filthy and rich – as dirty and filthy and rich as he is – and it haunts me as much as he ever did.Įven after knowing what I know now, I still want to talk to him, to touch him. I’ve discovered Donovan Kincaid’s secret.
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