Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
She's always been so damn smart—really fucking smart. Her parents had her working with tutors by the time she was in first grade because she was so far ahead of the rest of us. Everyone thought she'd be a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer or something. Not me.
I knew she was destined to sing. I was relieved as hell when she decided to pursue music in college. I'd worried that she'd pick something she thought she should do—something to please everyone else—instead of following her heart. But she didn't. She told her parents she was going for music, and they were thrilled.
When she didn't go, I couldn't wrap my mind around it. The girl who used to dream about college like most little girls dreamed about weddings was no longer going at all? It was unthinkable.
But that stage is where she belongs.
I didn't expect seeing her on it to feel like this, though.
Christ, I can't breathe.
I shove my way out of the club into the cool night air, trying to think through the chaos swirling through my mind. She was in front of me for the first time in years, and I just fucking…walked away.
Actually, I think I ran away like a goddam coward.
She's happy. She doesn't need an asshole like me swooping in to fuck it all up for her now, and that's precisely what I'd do—fuck it up for her. It's what I did back then. I fucked it all up, sent her life into a tailspin. If she's finally pulled herself out of it, the last thing she needs is for me to suck her right back into my tornado because my life is far from together. I'm a walking disaster.
"So this is how it's going to be with you, huh?" she asks from behind me as I stride through the parking lot across the street from the Rhinestone. "You're just going to keep walking away from me forever?"
I freeze midstep, her soft voice washing over me. Not even the anger in it does a damn thing to stop my body's reaction to her. My cock presses against my zipper, aching and desperate. Christ, she's the only damn thing he's ever wanted.
I may be the only twenty-four-year-old virgin left in Los Angeles. I'm positive I'm the only one left in the league. But I never could see past her long enough to see another woman. The thought of someone else's hands on me always made my fucking skin crawl. It still does.
I've been telling myself for six damn years that she isn't mine anymore—that she never really was to begin with—but my heart doesn't believe that shit. It never did. That motherfucker is loyal to her, and only her and it's dragged the rest of me along with it. Some days, I resented the hell out of it. I'm honest enough to admit that.
"Go back inside, Nadia," I say quietly.
"Don't tell me what to do, Mateo."
Fucking hell. She's always been so goddamn stubborn…
I turn to face her, my hands shoved in my pockets as if that'll convince me to keep them to myself instead of putting them all over her. I want her in my arms. I want her breath in my lungs. I just want her. Even now, that hasn't changed. I don't think it ever will.
But I'm the last damn thing she needs.
She glowers at me, her hands on her hips and her full lips pulled down into a fierce frown. I still want to bite that bottom lip. Hell, maybe I want to bite it more because she's scowling at me.
"You just show up after six years, beat people up, and then walk out?" she demands. "That's how things are going to be now?"
"You're the one who ran all the way to California to get away from me, butterfly," I remind her. "I'm just trying to give you the distance you want."
"Then why are you here?"
"Got traded." I shrug. "I'm sure they'll get sick of me and send me somewhere else soon." I flash her the ghost of a smile. "That's usually what happens with motherfuckers like me."
Her scowl deepens. "You mean players who fight all the time."
She's been keeping tabs on me. Something a lot like satisfaction swirls through me. "You been keeping up with me, baby?"
"No," she snaps. "But the truth is hard to miss when it's splashed all over the news every week, Mateo. And stop calling me that. I'm not your baby." She pauses. "I'm not your butterfly, either. I'm not anything to you anymore."
"Well, damn. Why don't you tell me how you really feel?" I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, trying to control the way they shake.
"I just did."
She's lying. I know it the second her gaze drifts from mine. She's never been able to look me in the eyes and lie to me. She always felt too damn guilty to do it.