Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Before I touch it, I check my phone again to make sure nobody’s opened the door since I left. Meanwhile, I dart back and forth down the length of the hall, though it’s no use. Whoever was here is long gone.
I approach the envelope, my heart pounding. It could be innocent for all I know, but who leaves what looks like a card outside somebody’s door in the middle of the night? Not to mention that half of the building holds college students who are home on break now. And it isn’t like Mia knows any of the neighbors.
I pick it up at the corners using just my fingertips, examining every inch of the envelope before slowly easing the flap free. There’s a plain, white notecard inside. Nothing else—no powder, nothing like that. All that’s left is for me to extract the card and read the message.
It’s short and sweet, and it sends my heart into overdrive. In big, block letters, somebody has printed four simple words.
YOU CAN’T PROTECT HER
22
MIA
When I wake up alone for the fourth night in a row, I can’t pretend I don’t know it anymore.
I guess some people in the world can sleep solidly. They get into bed, they close their eyes, they fall asleep, and they don’t wake up again until their alarm goes off. Or, even weirder, they get up on their own. Psychos.
Me, on the other hand? I can’t remember the last time I slept a whole night all the way through. Back in the day, I used to always listen for Mom to come through the front door, so I’d know she got home okay from her late shift. I guess it’s one of those habits that stuck. Even though I have nothing to listen for now, I never sleep for more than an hour or two without at least opening my eyes and checking the time.
That’s why I know that tonight’s the fourth night in a row that Zeke started out in bed with me, then ended up somewhere else. I told myself I’d wait until he came back on Thanksgiving, but I fell asleep before that happened. In the morning, he was there, beside me. It’s been the same since then.
And that’s not the only thing different.
I sit up and check my phone—it’s quarter to three, and I have no idea how long it’s been since he left. I never pegged him as an insomniac. Maybe that’s the problem, and he never mentioned it.
Or maybe something bigger is going on.
I hate to even think it, but I can’t avoid what’s been in my gut for days. Thanksgiving was definitely when things changed, no doubt about it. Everything seemed fine—great even. We had dinner, watched movies, and went to bed feeling good. Stuffed, but good.
By morning, everything was different. He can pretend all he wants to, but he’s not a great actor. There’s a stiffness to him now. Not quite the way he was before, but not the way he’s been the past few weeks, either. It’s almost enough to make me wonder if I imagined everything, even though I know I didn’t.
But it’s still easier to question my memory and experiences than to admit what’s irking me.
I think he’s tired of me now.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. I was forbidden fruit. Because he couldn’t have me, he only wanted me more. Now, I’ve literally lost count of the number of times we’ve had sex all over our home. Maybe I’m out of his system now. Maybe I made the biggest mistake of my entire life convincing myself we could keep this casual.
There’s nothing casual about it for me. Not only because he’s my first, either. I’m sure I would feel a certain way about whoever that person happened to be.
Zeke is different. He’s not some random hookup. He’s not some fumbling college freshman who managed to work his way into my pants.
And now, I don’t think he wants me anymore. He hasn’t even gotten handsy with me in days. I’m smart enough to know I didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t help blaming myself a little. I shouldn’t have gotten attached, and I know I did. But I’ve done everything I can to keep that from him. I don’t want to scare him off.
I chew my lip, staring at the closed door. Should I go looking for him? Will he resent me if I do? He probably needs his space, right? Then again, I didn’t invite him to stay in my bed. That’s just something that sort of happened. I’m not trying to force him into anything, so I don’t think it makes me needy if I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder where he went.
That’s enough to firm up my resolve. It’s enough to make me cross the room and open the door, to step out in the hallway and look around. There he is, sitting on the balcony of all places. Fully dressed, right down to that leather jacket. I don’t think I’ll ever smell leather again without thinking of him.