Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Chapter Six
CRUE
"Twenty-three."
"What?" Ireland blinks at me like a little owl, far too fucking cute in those glasses as we stroll toward the arena, hand in hand.
"Twenty-three," I say again, leaning close. She's already dragged my ass through every bus in the fleet, demanding I show her everything. I've never met anyone who gets as excited about little shit as she does. It's fucking adorable. "That's how many questions I get to ask you."
Her lips curve into an amused smile. "You really counted yesterday?"
"Damn right, I counted. You owe me twenty-three answers."
"Fine, but I'm not very interesting."
She's the most interesting person I've met in years, hands down. Everything about her fascinates me. But I decide to start off easy.
"You grew up in Texas?" I ask.
"Yep. A tiny little ghost town called Blackthorne in west Texas with more cows than people."
"How is it a ghost town if people live there?" I quickly hold up a finger when she opens her mouth to answer. "And that doesn't count as one of my questions. Everyone in the fucking world would have the same goddamn question."
"Fine. I'll let you cheat this time," she huffs at me. "But only because you answered my off-the-record questions yesterday. It's a ghost town because Blackthorne grew up around an old Wild West town. Except no one knows what the old Wild West town was named. There's no record of it that anyone has been able to find, so they named our town Blackthorne after the Wild West town in an old John Wayne movie."
We reach the entrance that gives us access to the backstage area of the arena. I shoot a quick text to Xander, requesting that he let us in the building. A few seconds later, he pokes his head out, sees us, and then holds the door open, letting us through.
"Thank you," Ireland chirps, unfailingly polite.
"Thanks, man," I murmur. "Ireland, this is Xander. Xander, Ireland."
"We've met. Sort of." She grins at him.
He grins back. I suddenly like him far, far less than I did sixty seconds ago.
"When did you meet?" I growl.
"Oh. Videochat."
I nod, slightly mollified. But only slightly.
Xander smirks like he knows exactly why I'm acting like a dick. Whatever. He shouldn't smile at my wife, and I wouldn't have to be a dick.
"How's it looking?" I ask.
"Fans are starting to line up out front, but it's not crazy yet." He frowns. "Some chick tried to sneak in earlier. We caught her before she made it past the lobby."
"Jesus." I'm surprised no one has shown up at the hotel yet.
"It's all good. We've got it under control."
"Thanks." I hold my fist out for him to bump and then place my hand on the small of Ireland's back, shuffling her around him before he can try to shake her hand or hug her or some shit. I'm acting like a possessive asshole. I recognize that. But I can't help it, either. I don't want anyone touching her. Or looking at her. Or fucking making her smile.
Xander chuckles behind us like he knows exactly what's up. He doesn't call me on it, though. He's a good dude.
"What do you want to see, Éire?" I ask, leading her down the hallway.
"Well, I saw your dressing room last night," she says, tapping her lips like she's really thinking about it. "It did not live up to the hype. There wasn't even a single naughty thing in it."
"That's a damn lie." I tip my head down, hitting her with a look that says, 'Don't bullshit me.' "You were in it, and we both know you started every naughty thing we did this morning."
She beams at me, her laugh bouncing off the cinderblock walls. Christ, I could listen to her laugh all day and not grow tired of it. It's the sweetest, most carefree sound I've ever heard.
If I can't convince her to stay, she's going to rip my heart out of my chest when she goes. I'm not going to survive it. She's been my wife for all of twelve hours, and she already owns me, body and fucking soul. I don't know how it happened. I don't even know when it happened. But somewhere over the last twenty-four hours, I've fallen hard. I have no intention of slowing down or stopping the free-fall, either.
"Oh! Can I see the stage?" She grabs my arm, looking up at me with big, hopeful eyes. "I want to live out my rockstar fantasies while no one is looking."
"You have rockstar fantasies, Éire?" I ask, grinning.
"Duh. Doesn't everyone?"
I lead her toward the crossover space backstage, helping her over the electrical cords taped to the floor all over the place. The area is crammed full of equipment and gear. She gapes all around as if she didn't just see half of this shit when she was backstage last night.