Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 99285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
She leaned in close enough that when she spoke, I’d be able to hear her. “So…” The neon lights of the backlit bar illuminated her pretty face.
“I know that tone, and it can’t be good when it starts with that one word.”
She gave me a lopsided smile, but it looked slightly pained… because she knew whatever she was about to ask me, I probably wouldn’t want to hear.
“Maybe I should just decline politely before you even ask?” Although the truth was, I was pretty sure I knew what she was about to say, and I was already cringing.
“So my cousin,” she said, and I tipped my head to the side so I could see her. She had a sly little grin on her face, and I rolled my eyes.
“Your cousin is gorgeous, and I’m sure he’s got an incredible personality from what I’ve seen already, but you know I’m not really looking for a relationship.” I’d never been looking for any relationship, if I was being honest. Never had any desire to be with anyone in… that way.
I’d always just focused on schooling, on trying to make connections that were real and deep. It always failed—most of the time, anyway. I’d connected with Sasha, and I felt like it was because—although we were vastly different—deep down, we had something that was elementally the same.
We liked to be free, to let go of reality, and just… be alive for a short amount of time.
But at the end of the day, it always seemed like I didn’t really know anyone. Hell, I didn’t even know who I was, not when it felt like I tried to be someone I wasn’t.
She exhaled and pulled back, but there was this mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Salvatore wants you; that’s clear by the way he keeps watching you when he thinks no one else is.”
I snorted, but I doubted she heard. “I’m wearing a whole lot of nothing. I’m not vain, but I think most men here will stare at a woman who’s half-naked.” I started laughing when she grinned.
She shrugged, and I was thankful she didn’t press about Salvatore. I didn’t think the subject was over, but she wasn’t being pushy.
Instead she took my hand, and we laughed as we headed back to the dance floor.
I drank too much. I knew that as soon as I took the last swallow of the tropical cocktail Sasha gave me.
It was no one’s fault but my own, but as I swayed to the music, sweat slowly trailing down my temples, I felt light-headed, a little woozy, and overheated.
But I couldn’t stop, not when the feeling of being lost in the best way consumed me. I let my fingers trail over my hair and picked up the heavy fall off my neck. The air inside was humid and sticky, but even so, the breeze that was kicked up by the moving bodies cooled my nape.
I continued to move my hips back and forth, feeling the music deep in every part of my body. My heart beat to the bass of the song, and I grew even more lost in the sensations. It was a heady feeling, almost erotic. I wondered if this was akin to the euphoria you felt during sex.
I felt someone move behind me and knew it was a male without looking. I could see his much larger shadow cover me, smelled his cologne mixed with sweat surrounding me. His body heat made me sweat even more, but I didn’t stop dancing.
He didn’t touch me, but every once in a while, his limbs would brush against mine. I felt this almost disgust coast over me at the sensation but pushed it away like I did every time. Another thing I assumed made me “not normal”… the lack of enjoying another’s touch.
I’d tried searching for what was “wrong” with me. Found there was a disorder called haphephobia. An anxiety disorder characterized by the fear of being touched.
But I wasn’t afraid of affection, wasn’t afraid of someone getting too close. I just felt this crushing disgust when a man was too close, when he skated his fingers along my body, when his breath brushed my skin. It had every part of me tightening in discomfort. It had always been that way since I was a teenager, but I’d never had the strength to tell someone about it, never wanted to share something that seemed so intimate to another soul.
So what was wrong with me that just the thought of a man touching me had my body shriveling up, yet at the same time, all I could fantasize about was a faceless man coming to me in my dreams and doing things others would deem depraved, sadistic, and masochistic in nature?
God, I am fucked up.
I pushed my thoughts away and focused on the reason I was here. Because it was a moment in time that allowed me to not obsess over what was the matter with me, and it just let me feel.