We use cookies
When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Your cookies settings
Strictly cookie settingsAlways Active
Chapter 7
7 Richie awoke to his doorbell ringing at ten o’clock that same morning. He had a raging headache. No, a hangover. Now, awakened by the ringing and pounding on his door, he vaguely remembered Vito dropping him off at home last night. He blinked a couple of times. Looking around, he saw that he had managed to take off his shoes, but that was it, before collapsing face down on the bed. Apparently, he hadn’t moved all night. He stumbled out to the front door and opened it. His other closest friend stood there. Shay was about as different from Vito as anyone could be. He was at least a half-foot taller, blond and aristocratic. He even dressed like some English lord, preferring a wardrobe of mostly what Richie learned were “heather” colored sport jackets—what the hell kind of color was heat
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD