Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Row’s jaw flexed. “Don’t do this,” he warned.
I waited for the fear to finally arrive. For the terror to kick in at our proximity. For my tics to make an appearance. But all I felt was burning desire and unbearable anger. Those two feelings danced together seamlessly, flooding the space between my thighs with heat. My breaths quickened, pulse pitter-pattering across my skin. “Do what?”
“Jump to conclusions.” His throat bobbed, and he looked like he was struggling with something. His eyes dropped to my lips. “I don’t hate you.”
The alternative, that he liked me, had never occurred to me. Because even though Ambrose Casablancas always spared me his wrath, he was also too impossibly dazzling, popular, and gorgeous to notice me. He’d always had the most glamorous girls flung over his arm, and breaking hearts and noses were his official hobbies. There wasn’t one woman in this town who wouldn’t let him warm her bed.
“Why did you do this, Row?” I licked my lips, swallowing hard. I held his gaze, ignoring the confusion teeming inside me. The liquid honey that uncurled behind my belly button and how empty I felt. How…unsettled.
“Are you really that dumb?” His lips hit my ear; the hair on my arms stood on end.
“Are you really that rude?” I stomped on his foot. “Just answer the damn question.”
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Remember the paper ring I gave you?”
I rummaged my memory bank for a paper ring but came up empty-handed. “No?”
Row’s jawline was a hard, square line of annoyance, and he barely moved his mouth when he spoke. “You were in first grade. Everybody fake-married their classmates. Nobody offered for you, so I made you a paper ring to stop you from crying. You were a mess.”
I stared at him, shocked. He had. Now I remembered that he had. But back then, he had just been Row, Dylan’s awkward big brother.
“And when you were in ninth grade and forgot your lunch?” There was a desperate, determined zing in his eyes, like he wanted me to read between the lines. “I drove to Wendy’s to buy you some, skipping physics.”
“What are you trying to say, that you were once nice to me, so now you have a free pass to be a douchebag?” I thundered.
“No.” His eyes crinkled with disappointment. Whatever I was supposed to understand, I didn’t. “I’m saying I don’t hate you and never have. I just don’t want to be around you, and you should fucking respect that.” His breath smelled of spearmint and cigarettes, and I wanted to kiss him. Wanted to know if he tasted as good as he smelled.
“But…why?”
“Because you’re temptation.” He released the banisters, slamming his fists against them with a loud thud. I jumped a little. “Look at you. With the sun on your skin, freckles everywhere, mouth red as a cherry. My dick swells just from knowing you and I share the same zip code. Whenever you speak, all I can do is stare at your mouth and imagine it wrapped around my cock. You’re a shiny apple, and do you know what people do to shiny apples?” His nose glided down mine, and I could almost feel them. His pouty, perfect lips.
“What?” I croaked.
“You eat them.” We were chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. “To the core.”
Oh fuck. Best blush? Anything coming out of Row Casablancas’s mouth.
I got it. We couldn’t do this to Dylan. Act on this attraction. Throw caution to the wind. Nothing was worth letting her down. Not even a taste of heaven. And besides, what good would it do me? I’d probably puke in his mouth from fear once he had his hands on me. My whole body felt like he’d set it on fire, tight and sensitive to the touch, and I wondered what would happen if he actually did touch me.
His gaze glided to my lips. I felt like he’d wrapped me in a soft, warm blanket. Like the universe had shrunk around us and we’d become the very center of it. Mostly, I felt safe because even when he was angry, he was my comfort object.
“I just…” My voice was strangled, pained. “I just can’t stand the idea that you hate me. I don’t know why. I just can’t.”
“I don’t hate you.” He couldn’t help himself. He raised his hand and picked at the string of my bikini, careful to avoid my skin, rolling the thin material between his thumb and finger. We both watched, transfixed. “I so don’t hate you it’s not even fucking funny.”
I pressed myself against the railings, closed my eyes, and enjoyed his proximity. No touching. No lines being crossed. Just his heat pulsating next to mine, feeding off each other’s energy.
“Your little sister’s annoying extension, right?” I gulped.