Yellow (The Safeword Series, #2) by Ava Claire Read Free Book Online Page A

from entertainment news altogether. And D...
    My stomach balled into a painful knot. Well, all I knew about D was that he made me feel wild and seen and sexy in a way that was addicting and powerful. Considering we'd only met because of my lie, and we hadn't had a conversation about anything outside of moaning and safewords, I had a feeling that he'd just nod, half listening, but not really getting it. Or worse, he'd offer to wave his magical wand, pull some strings, and give me some elite career on a silver platter.
    I peered at Peter, knowing that things would be so much easier if I did have feelings for him, but knowing that's not how things worked. I had a bad habit of letting my heart, and other parts of me, lead me in directions that ended disastrously.
    I picked my story back up, pulling us back to the first time we met. “I gave my spiel, my story idea, smiling like I was waiting for applause and what I got was my boss full on laughing at me like I'd just finished my comedy routine.” Anger raged in my chest at the memory and Peter's lips curved in a snarl of his own. I snagged his cup and brought it to my mouth, nearly finishing it off until I realized I didn't need alcohol to get through this. “You were there for me, Peter. There for me when I had no one. And then you helped me at the meeting-”
    “ Tried to help you,” he corrected, reclaiming his cup with a smirk.
    “Yeah, whatever,” I rolled my eyes with faux annoyance. I dropped my hands in my lap, flexing and unflexing my fingers, almost rolling my neck like I was stretching right before I was about to attempt some feat. And now, ladies and gentlemen, Sophia Slade will follow up her praise of her best friend's awesomeness by stomping on his affections!
    “When you tried to kiss me the other night, I was flattered-” I scowled at my word usage. I was a writer, I knew better. And he deserved better than some flowery crap engineered to not hurt his feelings, instead of do right by him and myself. “I just don't feel the same. That's why I didn't kiss you back and I've been acting like a weirdo. How do you tell someone that you care about that you care about them, but not like that?”
    It was a rhetorical question, so the silence that followed it was expected. His response, however, wasn’t.
    “You just did.”
    Only three words from him and they packed a punch that went right to my chest. His head was bowed, his own hands visible, and clenched into fists. Maybe my fear and self consciousness made me paranoid, but I couldn't help but worry that he was about to do something crazy. Like jump from the balcony.
    He didn't, snapping to his feet, nearly sending the flimsy table airborne. I lurched backward, nearly slamming into the open door. In a blink he was right there, holding the back of my chair so I didn’t fall. The look in his eyes was so empty, so void of anything that looked like Peter that I shivered.
    He lifted my chair, the shudder as I sat upright blasting a hole right through me. When he spoke, it was the same tone he used with Perri.
    “Check your email. I set up a lunch meeting with the chef dude for tomorrow. Feel free to show up.”
    I followed after him, but I couldn’t keep up because he plowed through the living room like he was on the football field - and he could care less who was in between him and victory, or in our case, the exit.
    I stood there pathetically, still holding the Dixie cup and the emotions that were taking me over at bay. The music was just loud enough that I couldn't think and the people who surrounded me were doing enough dancing that I danced by default, jostled until I just rocked from side to side. When my shoulder was nudged once, I let it slide, still swaying back and forth with my eyes closed, hoping they'd get the hint and move on to someone else. Clearly, they didn't care that I was currently just trying to be like everyone else, dance and pretend like nothing else mattered but the music that pulsed