Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
I pulled in a breath of cold air.
I’m not supposed to let myself trust anyone, but it’s like I can’t help myself with you.
My heart was racing like a thumping rabbit now.
“Fine. I’ll go to the stupid fucking party.”
His face lit up and my heart went wild for him all over again.
“It’s going to be so fun. They’ll have great food. Champagne. A live band.”
I shook my head. “You realize that I could still publish an article on you that will directly cause your career to come to a screeching halt, right? Why aren’t you still staring daggers at me every time you see me?”
He pulled in a long breath, looking up at the moon then back at me. He tucked a finger under the strap of his backpack, then shrugged.
“I know you could still do it,” he said. “Honestly, Part of me thinks you will, just to prove a point. But I’ve realized something else, too.”
“That you’re crazy for thinking I’m a good date?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve realized that there are some things I’ll just never be able to control.”
I clenched my jaw, looking him up and down. “I’ve always felt that way.”
He gave me a nod. “And I’ve always felt the opposite. I’ve always felt like I had to control everything in my life, to make it good. But I’m starting to think the things I don’t control might be just as good.”
“Like…”
“Like my sexuality,” he said. “Or… this.”
He grabbed the bulge at the front of his pants, showing me the thick outline of his cock.
“Always hard for me.”
He grabbed mine, squeezing around the base. “You’re always hard for me, too.”
I leaned in and bit down on his lower lip, sucking on it.
An impulse I couldn’t control.
He moaned at the contact and let me do it, skating his palm along my cock again.
“I cannot fucking handle you,” I whispered.
“Yeah. And I can’t control my feelings for you.”
I felt like I was entering territory that had warning signs everywhere, blinking bright in my eyes. I was ignoring all of them, barreling ahead.
This is going to be bad, isn’t it?
“The live band at the party better be good,” I said.
The fuck am I doing?
Why am I trusting this?
Trusting anyone?
“Oh, they will be. Always good to have good music in the background when you’re on a date with a guy who might fuck up your life, right?”
He gave my cock one more squeeze before pulling away, starting to walk off.
I’m the one who’s supposed to leave.
I’m the one who’s meant to cut things off.
“Text me the info.”
“I’ll text you a picture of something else,” he said, turning back to waggle his eyebrows at me. “But I’m not pretending I’m not falling for you anymore.”
Fuck.
Shit.
I was so fucking screwed.
I looked in the mirror, adjusting the tie on my suit.
My hands were shaking, just a little.
My hands didn’t shake when I got in fights, in the past. They didn’t shake when I saw a man die in front of me. They didn’t shake ever.
But going on a date with Peachel was making every single one of my trust issues crowd around me like they were members of a rioting mob, laughing at me, certain that I was making the wrong decision.
“It’s good,” Grandma Bet said from across the room, not even looking over at me anymore. “It’s been good since the first, second, and tenth times you looked at it. Quit changing the tie.”
I’d gone back and forth between a pale blue one and a dark, oxblood red one so many times that I was starting to forget how to even tie a tie.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be invited to a formal party alongside dozens of college athletes, but…
My life had been changing a lot since Andrew had come into it.
“Fine.”
“Which one are you wearing now?” she hollered over from down the hall.
“The blue one.”
“Then that’s the one you should go with. Done.”
This was why I didn’t go to events like this in the first place. It was a waste of time. Waste of brainpower.
“So many better things I could be doing with my time,” I said under my breath, taking in a lungful of air.
My phone dinged and I glanced down at it. I had a message from Andrew.
I swiped it open and saw a photo he’d sent.
It was a picture of him in his suit, smiling at the camera. The picture was taken at an angle from slightly lower than him, and instantly it only made me think of him towering over me.
Fucking hot.
Fine.
Maybe these events are good for one thing.
Seeing Peachel all dressed up.
Gray: I like what I see.
Andrew: Hope you’re ready.
I’ll be there to pick you up in fifteen.
Growing up being trained as a petty thief means that you never stop noticing expensive things when they surround you.