Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
His eyes narrow a bit. “Too nice?”
“To me?”
“Yeah.”
I shake my head again. “Not really.”
His eyes narrow further. “Not really.”
My widen in return and I realize the road this could send him down, if I told him about my slightly pervy boss. So to divert his attention and also because it’s true, I say, “I totally ruined your clothes.”
I hope he lets it go. I don’t want to get George fired or have my job jeopardize in any way. I also don’t want to be eyed like a toy my stepbrother wants to play with either. Which is how he’s looking at me as he says, “Yeah, you did.”
I wince. “Let me at least get you a towel, please.”
His eyes flash again, this time more brightly, dangerously. “Please.”
“What?”
He studies my features, his eyes going from one side to another, haphazardly, repeatedly. And for a crazy second, it feels like he’s trying to catch up. To the last six months, like I was doing. Looking for signs of things that happened during the time we didn’t see each other. Although, honestly, nothing happened. My life is still the same as it was six months ago. Work, my catering gigs, my sister, my friends. Trying to figure out how to pay my bills and send Snow to college. Staying up late into the night, thinking about him, worrying over him. Then admonishing myself for caring so much about someone who’s only ever been cruel to me.
“Didn’t think I’d like it so much,” he murmurs, breaking into my thoughts.
“Like what?”
“Hearing please,” he explains. “In your sweet little voice.”
“I—”
“But,” he cuts me off, arrogance flickering through his features, “I’m sure you can do a better job of it.”
“A better job of what?”
“Begging.”
My heart thuds. “What?”
“After what you did.”
Shit. What a stupid freaking thing to do. Especially when I know how he can be. I’ve only ever had two encounters with him, and still I know this could get very bad, very fast. I swallow and resume walking back. “Look, it was a mistake, okay?”
He resumes advancing. “Yeah?”
“Yes, I didn’t mean to do it. I—”
“I think you did.”
I keep hugging the tray as a shield against him and lie, “No, I didn’t. I-I stumbled.”
He hums. “See, I’m finding that a little hard to believe, given the very peculiar sickness you have.”
My back thuds against the pillar and all I can do is gasp at the impact. More than the impact though, it’s the fact I have nowhere else to go now. Not even when he’s right here, so close and getting closer as he leans down. He rests his palm on the pillar, his fingers splayed wide, and dips his head, bringing our faces only inches from each other.
And my mind, without my volition, goes back six months. Which would’ve been fine because it’s not really unusual for me, but right now, I’m thinking about that one particular moment before everything fell apart.
When we were just like this, so close, our faces aligned. When I could smell his sweet breaths and thought they reminded me of strawberries. When I thought I tasted strawberries on my tongue. The fact that for a second back there, it felt like he was going to kiss me, and how I was going to let him. How I was waiting for it to happen.
I try not to think about that moment. I try to steer clear of all the feelings that invokes. All the fluttery, longing, painful feelings.
“What sickness?” I ask in a voice I’m not very proud of, all breathless and fragile.
He keeps studying my features before glancing down at my mouth. “The sickness where you have trouble staying away from me.”
My lips tingle as I flick my eyes over to his. “You’re the one w-who’s having trouble letting me go.”
“Only because you don’t want me to.”
“You know, you’re not really a mind reader,” I remind him of our conversation that night.
“No, just your mind reader,” he repeats.
“Can you just step back?” I try again.
“You forgot the magic word.”
“Please,” I say begrudgingly.
He hums before saying, “A-plus for effort. But again, as much as I like that word coming out of your pink lips, I kinda forgot the other sickness you have.”
“What?”
“Where you use those same pink lips to lie your pretty ass off.”
I flinch and my eyes skitter up. “I don’t—”
“So before you start spouting off lies, let me tell you exactly what happened. You saw a girl writhing on my lap, hated the fuck out of it, wanted to take her place. So you did what you always do. Play your schoolgirl games with me instead of using your head and staying the fuck away from me and my business.”
“She wasn’t going to help you,” I blurt out, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“What?”
I don’t know if I should say it. Actually, I know I shouldn’t. He’s made himself plenty clear where he stands when it comes to me, but I don’t give a fuck. I care about him. I do. And as much as I know he’ll bounce back from it, I also know something awful happened to him six months ago. Plus I was there. I saw him get beaten up. I saw him unconscious. I have to say something. And he can take it like the big man he is. So I lift my chin, declare, “With your pain.”