Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) Rowe, Lauren (read aloud TXT) 📖

laughter, before Kendrick swipes his thumb over his nose, winks at Reed, and says, “Hey, gorgeous, are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got—”

“Fine written all over me.” Reed shakes his head. “Amateur. Bush league. Weak. Try again.”

And on and on it goes, pretty much just like that, through four more rounds. Until, finally, Reed breaks. But not in response to anything Kendrick has said—but in response to something Reed himself has said. Kendrick asks, “Can I follow you wherever you’re going, Reed? Because my momma always told me to—”

“Follow your dreams,” Reed interjects, his expression set in stone. And then, he takes a step forward, getting into Kendrick’s handsome face, and says, “Do me a favor, KC. Tell your momma I said, ‘Fuck Kendrick. Fuck his dreams. And thanks for sucking my cock last night.’”

“Reed!” Georgina shouts, as the party explodes with shocked laughter. And that’s when Reed throws his head back and guffaws at his own inappropriate joke.

“That doesn’t count!” Kai shouts, as his brother raises his arms in victory. “Kendrick didn’t make Reed smile! Reed made Reed smile!”

But the rest of the party agrees it did, indeed, count. And, quickly, the group’s attention turns to Savage. My last victim.

Someone yells, “Make him show us his cock!”

“Just google him if you want to see that,” I fire back, and the party hoots with laughter.

“No more dick pics from Savage!” Rhoda, a producer from Sing Your Heart Out, yells.

I quickly assure Rhoda, and the boisterous crowd, I’ve got no desire to add to Savage’s online dick pic collection tonight. “Actually . . . ,” I say from my perch on the piano bench. I smile at Savage below me. “For Savage, I pick Truth.”

“Truth isn’t an option,” Savage says quickly. But his bandmates desert him instantly, with all of them saying I can pick any damned thing I want, since I’m the Birthday Queen.

“We never pick Truth because we know everything there is to know about you,” Kendrick explains to his best friend. “But as the Birthday Queen, Laila is all-powerful.”

I return to Savage and realize anything worth asking him, I’d want to hear his answer in private. Also, like Savage said to me this morning, there’s no need to “dare” the man to do a damned thing, since, one, he’d do any important thing I asked, whether it’s my birthday or not, and, two, any not-important thing I might dare him to do, in order to humiliate him in front of a crowd, wouldn’t be fun for me. I have no desire to humiliate my sweet boyfriend, even for fun. And even if I did have that urge, it wouldn’t outweigh my desire to ask Savage an important question and know, without a doubt, he felt required to tell me the whole truth, without spinning or half-truthing it.

“I tell you what,” I say. “I’ll pick Truth and a rain check. We’ll finish this game later, behind closed doors, when it’s just you and me, as long as you agree that Truth is an option.”

The crowd boos.

Ruby is beside herself.

The Cook brothers tell me that’s not allowed.

But I’m firm in my decision and can’t help noticing Savage looks deeply relieved.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Fitzy,” Savage says, his dark eyes sparkling.

The faux-angry crowd begins throwing napkins and empty Solo cups at me, but I don’t care. I hop off the piano bench, straight to the love of my life, and kiss his sensuous lips.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” I murmur. “Whatever I ask, you’ll need to tell me the whole truth, so help you God.”

“That’s the game,” he says. “All I can say, though, is be careful what you wish for.”

Thirty-Three

Laila

The house is finally empty. All partygoers have left. It’s the wee hours of the morning on the day after my twenty-fifth birthday—the best birthday of my life—and I’m presently sitting on my boyfriend’s face on our couch, having an intense orgasm.

When my body stops warping and rippling, and my groans come down, Savage guides me off him, flips me onto my hands and knees, and fucks me from behind like I’m nothing to him but a blow-up doll he purchased online. And I love it. He calls me his “dirty birthday girl” and grips my hair. He tells me I’m hot, and his, and that watching me dancing to “Hate Sex High” earlier tonight, and owning that shit like a boss, turned him on like crazy. Until finally, Savage is coming hard inside me, followed by him fingering me until I do, too.

When both our bodies are spent and we’re way too exhausted to keep going for now, we cuddle naked on the couch for a long moment, catching our breath. For a fleeting moment, I have the impulse to spring up from the couch and play him the song I’ve been writing for him. “Savage Love.” But I quickly decide, no. First off, I’m not finished tinkering with the song. But, more importantly, I’m not ready to say all that “infinite and everlasting” stuff to Savage, just yet.

When I spoke to Mimi in private, during those last days of her life, she explained that Savage has always suffered from extreme anxiety, though the world would never guess that about him, based on his swagger and showmanship. She told me the thing that helps him keep his anxieties in check is taking things one day at a time. Not making firm commitments about the future. Not feeling tied down.

“That’s why Savage proposing to you is especially wonderful,” Mimi said to me. “It’s a huge breakthrough, to know he loves you enough to be able to envision, and promise, forever to you.”

Obviously, it wasn’t true. Savage had promised no such thing to me. And the weight of that lie hit me like a ton of bricks at the time. But nonetheless, that conversation with Mimi has helped me understand Savage better, which has helped me keep my expectations about him in check. For now, the boy