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)
Oh God, this is a disaster, isn’t it? This could be very bad.
What if it was at his house, in his backyard or at his window? Holy fuck, how do I explain that? I can’t explain that. So before I have to, I push off from the tree, ready to get away. “You know what, I have to go. I have to get back to work. It’s been—”
But I don’t get to go anywhere. I hardly move away from the tree and take a step to leave when all of a sudden he’s in front of me. But more than that, his hand is on me. His fingers are wrapped around my bicep and somehow, I’m looking up at him and he’s staring down.
My first thought is I was right.
About a lot of things. First, our height difference. I’m hardly 5’ 4” and he’s a little over 6’ 2”. According to his stats on every sports website, he’s 190 cm. I always knew I’d barely reach his jaw, and now that we’re so close, I can see my head reaches the triangle of his throat and that’s it.
Second, I always knew he was beautiful. While that wasn’t the first thing that made me watch him or keep watching him over the years, I know how good looking he is. It’s not just his black hair with hidden dark brown strands that only come out in the sun. Or even his glittering eyes with the same peekaboo chocolate brown. It’s the fact that he has a lot of hidden treasures on his face.
Like, the first thing you notice about him is the bone structure. The high cheekbones, the sculpted jaw, the killer slant of it like a precarious mountain slope. So you miss the soft curve of his mouth, or the shape of his eyes. You miss that his eyelashes are so thick and spiky. Or that his nose is slightly bent, revealing that he probably broke it at some point in his life.
You are so blinded by the sharpness of his features that you miss the little details that are just as important. You think he’s so handsome, but when you discover all the hidden things about him, you realize he’s more than that.
He’s beautiful. My stepbrother.
“What…What are you doing?” I breathe out, looking up at him.
“Stopping you,” he says in a lowered voice, his face dipped.
“Stopping me from what?”
“From hurting yourself.”
“What?”
“There’s glass everywhere.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t want to step on it and hurt yourself while running away from me.”
“I wasn’t running away from you,” I lie.
His fingers flex around my arm and something flickers through his features. “You do.”
“I do what?”
“Run away from me,” he explains. Then, leaning closer and lowering his voice even more, “When I get too close.”
“I—”
“And it’s the least I can do.”
“What?”
His eyes flick back and forth between mine as he drawls, “What kind of a big brother would I be if I didn’t save my baby sister’s best friend?”
I blink.
That’s how. That’s where he knows me from. A giant wave of relief flows through my system and I almost sag in his hold. My mind was going in million different places. Bad places. But I should’ve known. I should’ve thought of that first. Because he’s right. I am his sister’s best friend. Or rather, one of her best friends. Because his sister—Callie—has a lot of friends. And a few years ago, I became one of them.
I know what it looks like though. I’m a stalker so maybe I designed it that way. I orchestrated a meeting with Callie so I could get close to the Thorne family, and finally break the news about who I am.
But I swear, I swear to fucking God, that wasn’t—isn’t—my plan. It wasn’t my intention to become her friend at all. But then somehow, we both ended up at the same high school, and despite me keeping a careful distance from her, we became friends and she’s exactly as I thought she would be. Like she always seemed from a distance. Warm and friendly and so kind. Sometimes I wish I could tell her who I really am, but I can’t.
In any case, he’s right. I do run away when he’s close. I don’t look at him. I don’t talk to him. I pretend he doesn’t exist because I have no other choice. My obsession with him is already too strong; I don’t need to fan the flames. Even now I should insist on him letting me go and running but instead I say, “I just… Congratulations.”
His eyes narrow. “For what?”
“For your… engagement.”
His fingers on my arm flex, reminding me that he’s still holding me. Not that I forgot, but the strength in his grip, the power, takes my breath away for a second. “You saw that, huh?”
“Everyone saw.”
He hums. “Which was exactly my intention.”