Total pages in book: 238
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
But he kept coming. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered.
I shook my head, curling my fingers into fists.
“But I’m getting really tired of you looking at me like that,” he said, his expression suddenly serious. “Like I can’t be trusted.”
Well, could he? And even if I could trust him to have good intentions with me, I wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t want him involved in my life. I was doing him a favor.
I loved the theater, and I’d treasure the memory forever.
But Damon was right. Yesterday was fun. We were done.
“You need to leave,” I said again.
His eyes sharpened on me. “And I’m getting really fucking tired of you saying that.” His jaw flexed. “What’s the problem? Yesterday was amazing. Why do you always have to think so much until you’ve twisted something that was good into something bad?”
“I don’t owe you anything,” I bit out, “and I didn’t invite you in, so just leave! Get out.”
He stopped, the glare in his eyes almost as heart-stopping as his smile. “You know, I was nicer to you than I had to be.” He squared his shoulders. “You know how many girls I can get like that?”
He snapped his fingers, and the funny, laidback, sweet protector from the last several days was gone.
Believe me, I was well aware that he could get any piece of ass he wanted and had already. I wasn’t the first to touch or kiss him.
“Well, I should just thank my lucky stars that all my relentless, hard work following you around like a pathetic puppy just to get your attention actually paid off!” I yelled, calling him out fucking good.
He chased me! Not the other way around.
He took a step toward me but then someone called my name, and he stopped, both of us glowering at each other.
My blood boiled, and I could see his neck glowing with a light layer of sweat already.
Everything was hot. It was dark, we were close, and my bed was right there.
My clit throbbed once, and I stopped breathing.
“Emmy,” a small voice called again.
I blinked, releasing the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“Emmy?” my grandmother called again.
Will’s rigid stance relaxed a little, and his eyes softened.
I dropped my gaze and shook my head, managing no more than a whisper. “Please, just leave.”
I left the room, turned right, and headed to my grandmother’s bedroom, the late evening breeze making her white curtains billow.
She tried to push herself up in bed, her bulky pink robe wrapped around her.
“Hey, hey,” I said, rushing up and lifting the cord to the oxygen mask so she wouldn’t snag it. “I got it. I’m here.”
She sat up farther, leaning back on her pillows as I helped her take off her mask.
I put it up, listening to her breathe and making sure she was alright for now.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I just needed water.”
I picked up her cup and refilled the water, handing it to her as I held the straw in place.
“You forgot to light my candle,” she said as she took a sip and peered up at me.
I stared at her, my brow still tense from a moment ago. Everyone was out to try my patience today, it seemed.
“Don’t give me that look,” she warned. “Go light it. It’s my last, no doubt.”
I pursed my lips, knowing there was no way to argue with that. She may not be here next EverNight.
Fine.
I turned and walked to the mantel, grabbing the matches we kept for the fireplace she no longer used and took one of her midnight patchouli-scented candles to the windowsill. I set it down and lit it, making sure the flame was visible through the glass.
Such a stupid tradition.
Although, there was something more alluring about it now, since Will told me more of the story. Every October 28, since 1955, a year after the Cold Point murder, the residents of Thunder Bay lit candles in their bedroom windows for Reverie Cross on the anniversary of her death.
While the basketball team made their annual pilgrimages to Edward’s grave, everyone else honored his victim, convincing themselves that if they didn’t, not even death would withhold her vengeance. If your candle was still lit by morning, you were in her favor.
If not, something bad would befall you before the next EverNight.
It made about as much sense as throwing salt over your shoulder to ward off bad luck.
I watched the reflection of the candle flickering in the window and then reached over, closing her other window. If she wanted the candle to stay lit, then she’d have to do one night without her beloved wind.
I cast one quick glance out the window, wondering if Will had left.
Walking over to her side, I took the cup and set it down, smoothing her hair away from her face. Eighty-two years old, and she looked five hundred.