Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“I was trying to help you.”
“How the hell was that supposed to help me? You dragged me out of there like some caveman and embarrassed the shit out of me! That's supposed to help?”
“That guy at the club did a hell of a lot less, and you hauled off and punched him. How was I supposed to know you wouldn't do the same thing to Austin?”
Her mouth snaps shut, her lashes fluttering like she's considering what I said. “I had it under control,” she mutters, jamming her fists into her pockets. “It was no big deal.”
“Were you going to let him kiss you?”
She snickers. “No. Not my type.”
“You sure about that? Because you didn't push him away or anything.”
“He took me by surprise!”
“You said earlier that you want to forget. You want all the memories to go away. Is that how you plan on doing it? Making out with some random guy you don't know?”
“I told you I wasn't going to!”
“Good, because you never know what will trigger you next. I've watched you freak out around men for weeks. And nobody could blame you, but Jesus Christ, you can't keep walking headfirst into situations that are going to set you off. Men trigger you.”
She tosses her head. “Not you. You do not trigger me.”
And in those few words, something shifts. Something deep. Something I couldn't explain if I tried. It's the sort of thing you can only feel. Like the sun breaking through clouds, only deep inside where everything’s been dark for so long. Now, rays of light are shining, uncovering what’s been hidden.
“The feeling is mutual.” Reaching out, I take her by the waist and draw her close, making her gasp. “I'm only trying to help you. That's all I'm ever trying to do. You don't have to be a fucking brat about it.”
“When I need your help, I’ll ask for it. And if I didn't think I could handle things back there, I would have told you so.”
But that's not enough, although she can't know that. She can never know. I don't care whether she could handle it, not really. At the heart of this, there's the burning jealousy still churning inside me when I remember him touching her. As if he has the right. As if he's anywhere good enough.
As if he could kiss her the way she needs to be kissed. The way I could kiss her.
When her eyes fly open, I realize I'm leaning in. Her body stiffens and I realize I've crossed a line. I didn’t mean to do it. Since when am I not in control of myself?
“See?” I murmur, letting her go before she can feel my trembling. “See how you froze up? That's my point. You can't handle it.” She looks at the ground, breathing hard. Is she buying it? She needs to. I can't have her knowing she has this hold on me.
I don't have to tell her to get back on the bike once I do after grabbing my helmet and brushing the dirt. At least she's no longer screaming as she links her arms around me. It's a silent ride back to the house.
As far as I'm concerned, it can't end soon enough. The less time she spends close to me, the better for both of us.
CHAPTER 14
TATUM
There was one good thing about living at my dad’s: I had my own wing and could hide out for as long as I wanted with nobody bothering me. I’d creep out at night for food, when everybody was asleep and only one or two guards were on patrol. They knew better than to get in my way or engage me in conversation. That wasn’t their job.
I could avoid people.
I can’t avoid Romero much longer. Not in this tiny house. Not when I now know the floorboards in my room creak loudly enough for him to hear when he’s downstairs. I might as well be a bug under a magnifying glass. I almost want to break out my old tap class moves from when I was little and dance my way across the room.
Instead, here I am, hanging out in bed and hoping I’ll eventually fall asleep. I only tiptoed downstairs earlier today when I heard the basement door open and close through my own partially closed door. Pathetic? Yes. I’m wholly aware. But I’d rather be pathetic than face him.
He looked like he was about to kiss me. He really, truly did. Two days have passed—days I’ve spent holed up here mainly because I’m still furious with him—and I’m just as sure as I was that night. He was about to kiss me.
That’s not the worst part. Not by a mile.
The worst part is, I wanted him to. I was surprised, sure, but I wasn’t going to stop him. If he hadn’t stopped himself, I would now know what his lips taste like and what sounds he makes kissing. How he groans and sighs. How he…