The Billion Dollar Pact by Linnea May

Author:Linnea May [May, Linnea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Gabe

The fire seems bigger now that the sun has set and the flames are no longer competing with the light of the day. And it feels warmer, too. Searing heat starts prickling my face when I keep my gaze locked onto the flames for too long, and I can feel a faint layer of sweat building at my temples.

That’s probably the alcohol, too, though. I drank a lot tonight, and it wasn’t only to celebrate Aston’s birthday and our reunion.

No, tonight, my thirst also stems from the desire to forget—and the need to drown my anger and resentment. I hoped my mood would lighten by the time I got here, but the image of her face keeps popping up inside my head—just like the sound of her voice when she was yelling at me. I can still see those fiery curls dancing when she shook her head at me, the furious glare in the depth of her fir colored eyes and the blush of anger reddening her pale cheeks. Ella Whitt’s peerless beauty still ensnares me like it did all those years ago.

Seven fucking years. You’d think that’d be enough time to get over someone and leave the past behind.

Well, I guess that’s a lot easier if the past leaves you the fuck alone.

“Yo, Mr. Boulder,” Chase’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “Drifted off again?”

“He’s doing that a lot today,” Logan remarks, throwing me a suspicious look.

We’re sitting in a circle in front of the crackling fire, all of us sunk deep into the cushions of Aston’s lounge chairs, a drink in hand and the air blissfully heavy with the comfort that only close friends can give you. All of Aston’s other guests—mostly his colleagues from University—have left, and unlike them, he invited the three of us to stay for the weekend. It’s not like any of us would have trouble paying for an overpriced hotel room in Boston, but it wouldn’t be the same if we were scattered across town overnight. Besides, there are six expensively furnished bedrooms in this house and most of them are never used, because Aston lives on his own—like we all do.

“So, you still won’t tell us?” he asks, lazily turning to me.

“Tell you what?”

“What’s up with you,” Logan answers in Aston’s place. “You’ve been moody ever since you showed up—late, I might add.”

“And you waved me off when I asked you about it,” Aston adds. “Twice.”

“Same,” Logan growls, referring to a quick conversation we had when I asked about the new scar on his temple. He refused to tell me about it, and I refused to respond to his enquiries in return.

“It’s your birthday,” I say, meeting Aston’s booze infused gaze. “The first of us to hit the big three-oh, and the first to manifest his accomplishment of the pact.”

“Is that what it is?” he wants to know. “A manifestation? I mean, we’ve all done it. We all reached our goal a while ago.”

That’s correct. We all managed to obtain a net worth of one billion dollars before we turned thirty, and we all did it in different ways.

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