Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
This lights her up. Guilt cuts into me. Instead of an ember, it’s a sharp blade. It slices up my middle. For some reason, I hear the crash of glass shatter against the wall. I’m trying to be tough inside, cruel in my mind, and tell myself I’m a predator. Talk about Kayla like she doesn’t matter. A good lay. Stuff like that. Hack my brain into hating her. I’m a sociopath, I tell myself—a psycho. I’ve got no feelings.
“I’ll see you soon?” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, turning away, hoping I don’t have to see her again.
If my plan works, maybe I can get rid of them and find a new path in life. I’ve never had much time to think about what a person like me would do. I’ve had a series of dead-end jobs after dropping out of high school, reading as much as possible, and trying to improve. Maybe, just maybe, I can have something new, something better.
Or have I already crossed too many lines? Am I too much of a monster?
CHAPTER 12
MACI
Kayla spins around on the desk chair in my bedroom, her eyes beaming like two stars as she hugs a cushion to her chest. She holds the cushion as though she wishes it was Ethan.
“It went well, didn’t it?” she says.
“It seems so,” I reply, trying my best to smile.
After Kayla asked me if I was okay at dinner, I reminded myself that I had to pretend at least that I wasn’t being eaten up from the inside. I had to try to be normal, but it was so difficult sitting right next to her dad without any intimacy between us. I don’t know what I was thinking, wearing that dress. It was the only thing I packed that seemed appropriate for a formal dinner.
Maybe, deep down—or not so deep—I wanted him to notice me.
“He’s so romantic. He said he couldn’t kiss me when he left out of respect for Dad. How amazing, awesomely old-fashioned is that?”
I smile, nodding. She didn’t like it the last time I told her to be careful. Anyway, it’s not like I’m in the best position to give advice.
“I like old-fashioned,” I murmur.
Or, more accurately, I like “experienced.” I like salt-and-pepper hair, savage breaths, and bubbles popping like boiling water on the surface as my man stubbornly stays beneath the surface, refusing to emerge until he’s given me the most toe-curling orgasm of my life.
“Really?” Kayla says enthusiastically.
I laugh. Sure, it’s forced, but forced laughter seems better than sitting here with a glum look on my face, like the ghost at the feast.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” I say. I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t be telling her what I like or want because if I reveal even a shred of truth, it’ll lead to her dad.
I like tall billionaires with big muscles and big dicks, and it helps if their name is Lukas, too.
“I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”
“No, I mean, theoretically.” Another lie. Guilt twists in my belly. I yawn, covering my mouth. “Aren’t you tired?”
It’s past midnight. Kayla playfully tosses the cushion at me. “Not really, but I can take a hint. Don’t worry. There’s so much energy in me, buzzing around. It’s like it’s teasing me. I can’t stop thinking about him. Do you think I should text him?”
“Honest opinion?”
“You think I should calm down and take it slow.”
I nod. “I’m not saying he’s not the man of your dreams. I’m not saying he’s not going to change your life. I’m not saying you won’t get married one day. Let’s say that’s all true. Taking things a bit slower won’t change any of that.” I hope this is more tame than the advice I gave her at dinner.
“You’re right. Thanks, Maci.”
She leaves the bedroom. I turn off all the lights and bury my head in the pillow, making my world as dark as possible. I’m determined to fall into a deep, restful sleep. The issue is, I don’t think determination has ever made somebody fall into a peaceful sleep.
I toss. I turn. I wage a war with the sheets, which are intent on wrapping uncomfortably around my body. Sweat clings to me. I check the clock—one a.m. I check it again—one-thirty. Soon, it’s three, and I haven’t slept at all. I’ve got a tired feeling draped over my body, but my mind is too active. My thoughts rush to the pool, the coldness at dinner, and the impossibility.
When the floorboard creaks outside my bedroom door, I sit up, my heart pounding as a familiar yet new tingle dances up my legs. The creak passes, and then it returns. Maybe it’s my overactive imagination, but somehow, I’m sure it’s Lukas. It might be because the footsteps sound heavy.
Standing, I sneak across the room and place my ear against the door. I can hear breathing—heavy, manly, deep. I open the door slowly to find Lukas standing in a pool of moonlight, turning his hair almost blue, his eyes gleaming. He’s wearing nothing but his underwear, his chest rising and falling dramatically. It’s like he’s been standing out here struggling to hold himself back and not leap in here to claim me.