Read My Mind

  Read My Mind

  Natasha Preston

  Contents

  Also by Natasha Preston

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Keep in Touch with Natasha

  Also by Natasha Preston

  THE SILENCE SERIES

  Silence

  Broken Silence

  Players, Bumps, and Cocktail Sausages

  THE CHANCE SERIES

  Second Chance

  Our Chance

  THE ONE SERIES

  Waking up in Vegas

  Just Like The Movies

  Read My Mind

  STAND-ALONES

  Save Me

  With the Band

  Reliving Fate

  Lie to Me

  After the End

  YA THILLERS

  The Cellar

  Awake

  The Cabin

  You Will be Mine

  The Lost

  The Twin

  Copyright © 2020 by Natasha Preston All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.natashapreston.com

  Cover Designer: LJDesigns, www.ljdesignsia.com

  Editor: Victoria L James, www.victorialjames.com

  Formatter: LJDesigns, www.ljdesignsia.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For Lou. Thanks for being awesome.

  One

  Mila

  Is there anything more disappointing than your man finishing before you?

  I mean long before you, and then immediately calling it a day.

  No, there isn’t.

  Tonight, I didn’t even get the usual ‘do you want me to finish you off?’ afterwards, either. Like, fine, don’t worry about my orgasm or anything.

  Liam lays back on his bed with a satisfied smile.

  He has that post orgasmic glow to his light eyes. You’re welcome, buddy.

  I’m tired of arguing with him about this. He doesn’t want us to take our time and work ourselves into a frenzy before having sex. He wants to get in, and then get on with his day. For a man obsessed with cars, he has a very low sex drive. Mine is sky high. I suppose it doesn’t help that I read so many swoony romance novels.

  Hello, sexy alpha. Place me in cuffs and take me away.

  “You sure you’re okay, babe?” Liam asks.

  I never said I was okay, but let’s roll with this.

  “Yeah… considering.”

  He sighs. “Fuck’s sake. Considering what?”

  “You know what. Did you even want sex just then?”

  “Give it rest, Mila. We have this same fight over and over.”

  “Because you do everything so half-heartedly in bed now!”

  “I’m tired. You’re the one who wanted it.”

  “I didn’t hear you saying no!” I snap.

  “You’d only get bitchy.”

  I throw my hands up and get out of bed. “I’m sorry that I want to have sex with my boyfriend. What a monster I am.”

  “Don’t turn this in to a big deal. Everything is always a big deal. We had a quickie; so what?”

  “We’re supposed to be trying! We both laid down what we wanted six months ago in our last-ditch attempt to save this relationship. I’ve held up my end of the bargain. I spend every Sunday with you so you can fucking see your mates most Saturday evenings. I told you I wanted more affection and intimacy.”

  “We fuck every week.”

  “Every Sunday, yeah. We have a quick fumble, watch TV, and order a takeaway pizza. That wouldn’t be too bad if we also did something—anything—else at other times. I want you to take your time and at least break a sweat!”

  We’re twenty-one. We should be out having fun, not living like a bored married couple. If only he saw it that way. Liam is content. He’s happy to do the same job, go to the same pubs and restaurants, and visit the same destinations.

  To be fair, I wish I was like him. I would love to feel like I’m not missing out on something. I see these amazing places all over the world, and I long to pack a bag and chase the high of new experiences.

  The only place I can get Liam to commit to is Cornwall. It’s a lovely seaside town, and somewhere I hold amazing memories of, but it’s not quite enough for me for forever.

  “I wasn’t in the mood.”

  “Then tell me that. Fuck.”

  “Calm down.”

  “I’m not calming down. I’m going to Wren’s.”

  Without getting up, Liam pulls on a pair of boxers. “Whatever. Are you coming back later, or should I order one pizza?”

  “I’m not coming back. I’ll eat with Wren and Brody.”

  She’s a good hostess; she’ll feed me. Or Brody will take pity on me and order us all a Chinese takeaway.

  “All right.” Liam leans over and grabs the TV remote. “Are we still meeting tomorrow for dinner after work?”

  “I’ll call you when I get out of uni.”

  “Your last class finishes at four, right?”

  My scalp prickles in anger, but my rage isn’t going to get me anywhere.

  “Three,” I reply. The new uni year has recently started and there’s a lot to do. “I need to find some work experience soon. Everyone else in my class is already set.”

  Part of my course is working in the publishing industry. I’m almost certain that I want to write, but I’ve also enjoyed editing. It’s much more fun to pick holes at someone else’s work than to have it done to your own.

  “How are you going to handle working?” he teases.

  I narrow my eyes. “I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  “Sure.”

  All right, so my employment track record isn’t anything to write home about. I’ve done a bit of waitressing, but that’s about it. I live with my parents, and althou
gh I love it, I’m pretty much still there because I’m scared.

  Mum and Dad have good careers, and so do my two brothers. I’ve picked a notoriously tough industry to make it in. My dad worries about that a lot. I think that’s why they suggested I stay home while I study. That, and they can’t let go either.

  I’m not scared of hard work. I’m scared of disappointing my parents.

  I get out of bed and slip my clothes on, feeling Liam’s eyes on me.

  “You want to do something next weekend? We could attempt one of those escape rooms or go to the cinema? Ooh, or to that new bar in town—the one to replace that shady place where they didn’t check IDs,” I suggest.

  Anything. Let’s just do anything. Although, I know the answer before he opens his mouth, and I know that means we’re doomed.

  Liam shrugs a shoulder, half listening and half watching the grid line up on F1. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Maybe means yes when my mum says it. Unfortunately, it means no when Liam says it.

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.

  “Drive careful.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” He turns back to the TV, and I know he won’t bother getting dressed until he’s ordered his pizza.

  Sometimes I want to shake him. Liam has crazy potential but, for whatever reason, he’s wasting it. If I wasn’t part of his routine, I wonder if he’d want me back at all.

  I leave his apartment with a heavy feeling in my stomach, and I get into my cute yellow Beetle—the proper bubble shape. The first remake—and I drive to Wren’s.

  She had better be home.

  We don’t have plans but I had to get out. I can’t spend another Sunday wishing he would take me out and then tear my clothes off. Things were hot, once upon a time. We were teenagers who couldn’t make it through a movie without getting naked.

  I’m still searching for that. Wren and Indie keep telling me that it’s gone. I’m holding onto the hope that it’s not. Maybe we can get over this hump and get back to how it used to be.

  Maybe I’m a fucking fool.

  I pull up outside Wren’s place and park in the drive. They have a lovely house now with three bedrooms and a big garden. Wren has currently brought home three old dogs from her job at the local rehoming centre. She can’t bear it when the elderly dogs don’t get adopted.

  They’ll end up with about ten, despite Brody initially insisting on a maximum of two.

  Brody answers the door after I knock. His dark hair is messy, and I don’t want to know what they’ve just been doing. My hair is still pristine.

  “Brody, my brother from another mother.”

  “Wren, your weird mate’s here!” he shouts over his shoulder.

  I backhand his stomach. “You married my friend in Vegas without inviting me, prick.”

  He laughs and steps aside. “Good to see you. Did we know you were coming?”

  “You should always expect me. Wren, where are you?”

  “Kitchen! Wine?”

  “Hell yeah. Brody, my car started making a noise on the way over here.”

  “Doesn’t your boyfriend work in a garage?”

  “Yep.”

  “Chuck me your keys.” I hear the eye roll in his voice.

  I throw my keys over my head and walk into the kitchen. I hear him catch them.

  “Wine,” I say affectionately.

  Wren smiles as she hands me a glass. Her perfect, glossy blonde hair is tied up, and she smiles. “What brings you here on home date night?”

  “If you’re going to be a dick—”

  “I’ll behave.”

  “Liam is watching F1.” If there’s no race, he watches old ones.

  “And you didn’t fancy it?”

  I shake my head and take a swig of my wine. “Not really. We’d just had sex, and I could see the rest of the night playing out. TV, pizza, and nothing. It’s always the same. Always.”

  She presses her lips together.

  “Yeah, yeah, we both know what you’re going to say. Me and Liam aren’t right together. I love him, though, Wren. That counts for something.”

  “It counts for a lot. Way more than it should sometimes. I just don’t think you have any idea how much you’re going to love the right guy.”

  “What if Liam is the right guy and we’re just going through a blip? My parents broke up for a year before they got married.”

  “You’re not your parents, and you sound like you’re just trying to convince yourself.”

  “Well, thank you for that.”

  “My point is that you’re not going to do things the same way as your parents, Mila. They don’t expect you to. Just be happy doing whatever you’re doing with whoever you’re doing it with.”

  “I’m not unhappy.”

  “No? You left his place because you couldn’t handle another evening of the same thing.”

  “I’m having a bad day. Lots of them. All in a row.”

  “Boring sex, TV, and takeaway.”

  “Ugh, don’t even with the sex. It’s not terrible, but we’re definitely on different pages of the Kama Sutra. I just want to be fucked, you know?”

  Brody walks into the room and stops dead.

  “If things are getting girl on girl—”

  “Don’t even finish that sentence,” Wren warns.

  He walks past me and kisses her neck. “You know I don’t share.”

  “Would you two fuck off?”

  Brody pulls away from my friend’s neck. “I’m sorry, are we disturbing you in our house?”

  “If you could be a little less happy, that would be great.”

  Wren looks all doe-eyed, like she absolutely cannot be less happy.

  I don’t want her to be, obviously.

  “Ditch him, mate. Find someone who will fuck you until you can’t walk. Car needs a mechanic, by the way.” On that note, Brody kisses Wren, picks up his beer, and walks out.

  I take another swig while Wren gives me an accusing look.

  Brody might not be the most tactful, but he is right. I have to end things with Liam. We gave it six months to see if we can fix it. Six months later, nothing has changed. Not one thing. I can’t give it even one more week. I know what I have to do.

  Two

  Reid

  It’s Tuesday morning, so I’m working from home, although I can barely concentrate on the manuscript in front of me—a new author’s novel that will no doubt set the literary world on fire. Right now, all I can focus on is Mila. Her black hair is tied up, exposing a very tempting neck. Long legs are wrapped up in some seriously tight jeans, and her over worn Ramones tee is tucked into the waistband.

  She’s had my attention for a very long time.

  My neighbour of nine years. I remember the day my family and I moved onto this street. I was pissed at having to move over forty miles away, leaving my friends behind, but the second we pulled up to the house, and she came to say hi, I knew I was done for.

  One month later, when I saw her reading in the back of her mum’s car, refusing to get out until she’d finished the chapter, I knew I was going to fall in love. I was fifteen. She was twelve, too young, and so uninterested. I don’t think she said more than the odd passing ‘Hey’ since the first day we met. Besides those two evenings: the one in the bar with her friends last year… and one much before that. I doubt she could recall either.

  She’s outside now, kicking the wheel of her ridiculous Volkswagen Beetle, as if that’s going to fix whatever the problem is.

  Four years ago, my parents moved back home to the place they ripped me from. But I didn’t follow. I work for Wilson Press, a small publisher on the outskirts of the city, about twenty minutes from here. I love my job… and I love my neighbour.

  If anyone asks why I didn’t move back to be near family, I tell them it’s due to work.

  Mila scowls at the yellow car as Wren pulls up. I’ve seen Mila’s boyfriend in grease-covered overalls before, so I’m pretty
sure he’s a mechanic. I don’t know why Mila called Wren instead of him.

  Getting out of the car, Wren speaks to her for a second and then kicks the wheel in the same spot Mila did.

  Really?

  Shaking my head, I lower my eyes and try to focus on the words in front of me. This is a damn good book, and my notes are making it even better.

  We’re on a tight deadline here, so I’m home for the two weeks before it needs to be back with the author, Leonard. He’s written three incredible thrillers. I’ve read all of them as first drafts, and Wilson Press bought his strongest. I know it’s going to do well, so I’m keen for us to buy more.

  Mila would like it. I’ve seen her carrying horror and thrillers as well as romance. She has a battered copy of Stephen King’s The Shining that looks as if she’s read it a hundred times.

  The thought of her pulls my attention back in her direction. I should have stayed at work.

  The bonnet of the yellow bubble is up, with both of them looking inside as if the engine is going to tell them what’s wrong.

  Jesus, I can’t watch this any longer.

  I get up and make my way out of my office, which used to be the dining room when my parents owned it, and head outside.