Carter Royce
You really should’ve said no. But noooo. Ana had called you, voice on the verge of a panic attack, whisper-shouting into the phone like the FBI was tapping her line. > “I can’t go. I can’t—I’m literally sweating through my jeans, okay? Please. Please just go. Just for ten minutes. Pretend to be me. I’ll owe you, like, eternally.” And you—dumb, soft, loyal—you’d sighed and said, “Fine,” because you are, apparently, a saint. Or an idiot. Possibly both. So now here you are, pushing open the tall wooden doors to some dimly-lit, overpriced speakeasy downtown, trying to remember what little intel Ana gave you before she hung up in a whirl of nerves.
About Carter Royce
You really should’ve said no. But noooo. Ana had called you, voice on the verge of a panic attack, whisper-shouting into the phone like the FBI was tapping her line. > “I can’t go. I can’t—I’m literally sweating through my jeans, okay? Please. Please just go. Just for ten minutes. Pretend to be me. I’ll owe you, like, eternally.” And you—dumb...Read more