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)
I grit my teeth again. “I know it’s hard for you to believe, but not everything revolves around you.”
“Not everything, no. Just all the things you do.”
“You—”
“Because if you really like him, then I’m sorry to burst your bubble but he’s a fucking moron and you’re wasting your time.”
Irritation snaps my spine straight. “He’s not a moron.”
“He’s spent the entire time talking to your chest,” he states.
He has? I never noticed. I look down at my chest for a second. I do have some cleavage showing. It’s not a crazy lot, because I don’t really have a lot to show off in that department, but it’s still more than what I get to expose at the coffee shop with Joe. So I’m not really sure how I feel about that, about Joe staring at my boobs. But then again, we’re on a date, aren’t we? So what if he’s looking at my chest a little bit?
I snap my eyes back to him. “Maybe he likes my dress.”
He tightens his jaw. “There’s nothing to like about that dress.”
My chest clenches with a sting. Of course he’d say that. He’s cruel that way. Cruel and vicious. A fucking viper. I was right when I called him that. He’s not a thorn. He doesn’t just wreck people. He poisons them.
But before it shows up on my face, the hurt his words have caused, I snap, “You know what, I don’t care what you think, okay? I like this dress.”
“It’s nothing compared to what’s inside the dress.”
I draw back. “Excuse me?”
He rakes his eyes over my face again all angrily. In a way that makes me think he doesn’t want to, but he also doesn’t not want to, either. I have no idea what it means except that it makes my chest tight and my skin tingle and prickle.
Then, as if talking to himself, he murmurs, “Your hair, it goes everywhere. It touches everything, your face, your neck, your arms, bursting with life. It’s the first thing anyone sees when they look at you. And your face, dotted with a million freckles. It’s like cream sprinkled with cinnamon. Like crispy fall. So if Joe’s more interested in looking at your fucking dress than staring at your face, and mapping out your freckles to see what constellations they’re hiding then yeah, he’s a moron on top of being a fuckface.”
I think I heard him wrong. My heart was beating so loudly through everything he said, there’s no way I heard him correctly. And if I didn’t hear him right, then it stands to reason I didn’t understand what he meant by it either. Right?
I mean, it felt like he said he… likes my big frizzy red hair and my hideous freckles. But that… That doesn’t make sense. Not only because there’s nothing to like about those things, but also because he’s him and didn’t I just call him a toxic reptile in my head? How can he then turn around and be… nice? Well, almost nice, which in his case is still a giant leap.
“I…” I pause to catch my breath, my fingers still threaded together in my lap, but mostly because I don’t know what else to do with my hands. “I’m just trying it your way.”
A muscle jumps on his cheek as he asks, “What’s my way?”
I look into his eyes and state, “Using other guys to… dull the pain. For wanting an asshole like you. So maybe, it is for your benefit after all.”
I want to say I’m proud of myself. For sticking to the plan. For sticking up for myself. For not melting at the last second and remembering to put him in his place. But I don’t. As in, feel proud of myself.
All I feel is this sting in my belly when his eyes flash and his chest swells up with a long but sharp breath. Then, leaning closer, he growls so low it’s almost a grunt, “Make an excuse and ditch him.”
“But I—”
“And then use this to pay for that fucking drink you just had,” he keeps going, sliding something toward me on the table.
I look down and it’s his credit card. “What?”
His jaw is ticking. “He isn’t going to pay for your drink, I am.”
“What? That’s just—”
“Because this isn’t a fucking date,” he declares crazily.
“It is a date. It’s—”
“Because if it’s a date, instead of going home, he’s going to the emergency room. And you don’t want that for poor Joe, do you?” All I can do is blink at him as he continues, “When all of this is done, you meet me at my truck across the street.”
My eyes are wide. “Meet you?”
“You’ve got ten minutes.”
My heart is pounding and pounding. “Shepard, I…”
His angry eyes flick back and forth between my scared ones as he says, in a voice even lower and rougher than before, “You like saying my name, don’t you? You liked whispering it in my ear the other night just before you ran away. So trust me when I say you really don’t wanna make me wait, and you sure as fuck don’t wanna run. Because when I catch you, I’ll let Joe and every motherfucker in this town watch as I throw you over my shoulder and drag you out to my truck, just so you have a reason to scream my name out loud. And I’ll make you scream it so goddamn loud that it'll feel a lot like that revenge you were so afraid I was here to exact.”