Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
“I think it is.”
“It’s n-not. It’s…”
My words go poof in the face of what happens to his features next. His sharp features get even sharper, his jaw going tight and his cheekbones arching up. Even his flaming eyes sharpen.
They become… predatory.
Possessive.
It’s like a fire, that possessiveness.
Like a hot star between us.
Between our wildly breathing, closeknit bodies.
“You’re my best friend’s girl,” he rasps. “Aren’t you?”
I am.
Yes.
Although, I’m ashamed to admit that out of all the reasons I thought that this conversation is inappropriate, being his best friend’s girl wasn’t something that made it to my list.
It should have though.
Because that’s the biggest reason why.
I swallow. “Yes. And so you shouldn’t ask —”
“And you’ve been separated for two years now.”
“That’s —”
“And so it is my business. My right. To know,” he says, bites out really, his eyes narrowed.
It should sound ridiculous.
What he just said.
It did when I said it.
But somehow it doesn’t. Not right now.
Not when my breaths are all squirmy and my nipples are sore.
And my skin is on fire because of his skin.
His possessiveness.
“To know if someone else has touched me?” I whisper.
“Yeah. Because I know he hasn’t.”
No, he hasn’t.
Lucas hasn’t touched me in that way. We never got to that part.
I wouldn’t let him.
For some reason.
We’d kiss and touch each other over our clothes. But I wouldn’t let him put his hand under. And he always respected that. He respected my boundaries.
His best friend — or rather ex-best friend — doesn’t.
He obliterates my boundaries, my walls, to make space for himself.
And usually I fight back. I hold my own.
But in this moment, I’m a feather, light and fragile, and he’s the hurricane, cruel and forceful.
“No, he hasn’t,” I whisper.
He licks his split lip. “So then I have a right to know if you’re in the same condition that my best friend left you in.”
There’s so many things wrong here.
I’m not an object. I can be in any condition that I want to be in.
Besides, his best friend is definitely not in the same condition that I left him in.
So I should stop this.
But I can’t.
Not when he — the hurricane — practically looks like his life depends on my answer — the feather. When it looks like he’ll snuff out, his fire, the eye of his storm, if I don’t let him blow me away.
If I don’t let him crumple me into pieces.
“So you’re asking for your friend then?” I ask, my skin coarse with goosebumps.
His jaw clenches. Hard. “Yeah.”
I feel that force in my belly. “And if I told you that someone had?”
His jaw clenches again. Only harder. “Then you’d be signing his death sentence.”
This time I feel that violence in my chest. “You’d k-kill someone just for touching me?”
I don’t know why I ask that when I already know.
He not only told me but showed me with Brad the other night.
“For touching what belongs to my best friend,” he tells me.
Which I do.
I do belong to his best friend.
He’s the love of my life.
And so that’s the intention I reply to him with, for his best friend, but why does it feel like I’m also telling this to him.
“No. No one has touched me.”
His Adam’s apple jerks with a thick swallow.
“I’m in the same condition as he left me in,” I continue and his eyes flash. “For your best friend.”
And then I step up to him.
I lick my lips, drawing his gaze down to my mouth as I say, “Now that you have your answer, I want you to wait here.”
His eyes snap up and he frowns.
But he doesn’t say a word and I have a feeling that he can’t.
That me still being untouched for his best friend is somehow a big fucking relief for him. So big that he can’t form words. He’s slightly dizzy.
Good.
I don’t want him to talk anyway.
“I’m going to go change into something appropriate. Something more suitable for company. Especially the company of my ex-boyfriend’s pervy ex-best friend. And then when I come back out, we’re going to watch a movie, you and me.”
At this, he does speak. “What?”
I smile up at him. A small but confident smile. “Yeah, I’m thinking Titanic.”
He looks horrified. “What?”
I smile wider. “Because I think I will drench you in my tears after all.”
He draws back. “Fucking what?”
I step up to him again. “It’s romance, Reign. I love romance. Romance makes me feel good. It makes me want to laugh and cry all at the same time. And since you’re my ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend, it’s your duty to sit here and wipe my tears and blow my nose when Jack dies in the end.”
“No.”
I shrug. “Sorry, bro code. I don’t make the rules.”
It’s a testament of how shocked he is, how horrified he seems to be at the prospect of watching Titanic with me, that I’m able to maneuver and turn his big body toward the bed, and then push him onto it.