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)
"Zoya, wait." My face falls. "I didn't mean to make you run off."
"You didn't. But you have something else to do right now, and I think you need to do it more than you need to hang out with me." She gives me a tiny smile. "Please, for your sake, do it. You're never getting past this until you face it."
I hesitate for a long moment and then nod reluctantly. She's right, dammit. The only way I get over him is by facing him. I tried running. I tried hiding. I tried pretending he didn't exist. None of that worked. The only thing left to do…is deal with him.
So why the hell is that thought so terrifying?
Twenty minutes later, I'm still sitting on the floor, staring at my phone, afraid to pick it up and dial his number. Part of me is afraid Zoya was wrong about him keeping his old number. And I think part of me is afraid she wasn't kidding. I'm not sure I'm ready to face the implications if he really does still have it.
For years, I've been hurt and angry because he didn't show up when I needed him. Only to come face to face with the possibility that he's been holding onto guilt for just as long.
What happened to us? How did we get here?
For years, I've tried to figure out how things got so messed up between us, but I've never been able to pinpoint exactly what went wrong. One day, we were happy—kids with our whole lives ahead of us—and the next, it all fell apart.
Did he resent me for always hanging around him? Was he tired of me? I just don't get it, and I never have. Why tell me that he loves me and then break my heart? Why ask me to tell him how I felt about him if he was just going to leave? Why didn't he show up at the hospital after spending months fighting, trying to convince me to give him another chance?
He was never cruel, but that felt particularly vicious.
I guess the only way to find out is to ask him.
I swipe to his number, my finger hovering over the dial button.
The door opens behind me, the roar of the reporters camped outside rolling into the studio in a wave.
"Jesus Christ," Teo mutters.
I whip around so fast I topple over backward.
I land on my back, staring up at him.
"Well," he says, his lips twitching as he stares down at me, those piercing blue eyes locked on my face. Even upside down, he looks damn good with a scruffy jaw and his hair all wild. "This is not what I envisioned when I imagined you in a recording studio, butterfly."
"You," I manage to stutter.
"Me," he confirms, that damn smirk growing. He leans down, holding a hand out to me to help me up, but I quickly roll to the side, scrambling to my feet about as gracefully as a freaking panda.
I slap hair out of my face, scowling when he chuckles, clearly amused at the free show I'm giving him, the big jerk. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to see you. Is that a crime?"
"Should be."
"So you're still mad, I take it?"
Still mad? Is he kidding right now?
"You kissed me in a freaking parking lot, Mateo," I growl.
"Is this a bad time to remind you that you kissed me back?"
I stomp on his foot. Hard.
He just chuckles. "That's one, butterfly."
I don't ask why he's counting. I don't even want to know. Instead, I poke him in his ridiculously hard chest.
"Two," he murmurs.
"And then when the photos leaked, you told the paparazzi that we're dating," I snap. "Have you lost your freaking mind?"
"Baby, I lost it six goddamn years ago."
I growl and poke him again.
"And that's three," he says ominously.
Someone his size really should not be able to move as fast as he does. Before I can even tell him to stop counting—or congratulate him for knowing how—he has me backed up against the wall, his body pressed to mine.
"Let me go," I whisper, my heart thundering against my ribcage.
"Not until you kiss me and say sorry."
"I'm not kissi–"
He cuts me off, slanting his mouth down over mine. And even though I'm determined not to kiss him again, as soon as I feel his lips on mine, my resolve evaporates. His tongue touches mine, stealing what little sanity I have, and my hands fist in his hair, anchoring him to me.
He consumes me with his kiss again, drinking from my lips like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted. The way he growls as he licks into my mouth has my core clenching.
I whimper, flows of heat coursing through me in powerful waves.
No one should be allowed to kiss like this. It's not fair. There are no defenses strong enough to withstand this kind of sensual assault. Especially when his hands are everywhere, running across my body like he knows every damn curve. He brands me with his touch, searing me all the way to my freaking soul.