Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I close out my tab with Rochelle with very little fanfare. The evening is starting to kick up, and she doesn’t pay me much attention since I turned down her suggestive flirting very early when I first came to Farmington.
I feel devious and naughty, and instead of it making me want to head out the front door guiltily, my pulse is pounding when I come out of the restroom and head toward the back staircase instead of back out into the bar.
The rhythm of my steps as I climb the stairs matches my heart, excitement flowing through me.
I look over my shoulder, my body now shrouded in darkness, before lifting my hand to knock. If someone saw me up here, there would be no excuse for why I’m here. The truth would be insanely evident, and despite not wanting to get caught, there’s also a certain thrill to the risk as well.
I grow even more nervous and not in a good way when my knock goes unanswered. With a heavier hand, I knock again, shoving inside and closing the door behind me the second it opens.
“What?” I ask, a slow smile on my face that falls away nearly just as fast when I see Drake standing a few feet away with an unimpressed look on his face. “Sorry.”
I don’t know exactly what I’m apologizing for, but it seems needed right now.
He continues to soundlessly stare at me, making me feel like I’m being inspected or assessed.
“I thought we were busted when I saw the text about Ugly and the other guys passing you when you left the clubhouse. He was too drunk to even stay awake in the vehicle, so we’re in the clear. The new guys have no idea what you drive.”
I don’t see the relevance in mentioning the way Bishop looked at me this morning in the kitchen because the new member didn’t actually say anything about it. I haven’t gotten the perfect bead on the man yet, so it feels premature to worry about him.
The man in front of me remains silent, taking a step back when I step closer and reach for him.
“Are you ever going to get to the point where you’ll be okay with people knowing?”
My mouth suddenly turns into a desert. One sentence, yet it feels like an ultimatum.
I don’t answer because my immediate thought of never isn’t something that Drake is going to want to hear.
“Do you feel guilty for what happened last night?”
I blink at the man, knowing I can answer this in a way that he’d like, but also have to consider the repercussions of it. I can’t explain that I woke feeling high on life only to once again be terrified that I was going to be confronted with the reality I’ve been so desperate to keep secret. Guilt really didn’t factor into it much. I just don’t want to have to speak openly about something I don’t fully understand or accept.
Drake scoffs at my silence.
“But why would you feel guilty? You didn’t do anything. Isn’t that how you justify it to yourself? You didn’t get on your knees, so I’m the one to blame.”
My pulse pounds in my ears, the fear of this man asking me to leave greater than the fear of waking up to the text from him.
“It’s my sin, right? Because you didn’t really participate?”
I clench my jaw, hating the way he’s throwing my confessions back into my face. Had I known we were only going to fight, I would’ve stayed at the clubhouse. It wasn’t supposed to be messy and yet here I am getting chastised like a child.
Unwilling to let something that was supposed to only be a good time, a way to feed that part of me without anyone knowing, I turn toward the door, resolved that this wasn’t going to work out any other way, despite me wanting to drag it out as long as I could.
I reach for the doorknob, ready to bolt from his apartment, when he speaks.
“Maybe we should—”
I spin to face him, a look so angry on my face that his words cut short.
“Is it the lack of participation that bothers you?” I snap. “Do I not please you?”
His groans of pleasure have echoed in my ears more than once, so I’m pretty sure that can’t be the case.
“Is it because it’s only been hand jobs?”
His own jaw is twitching with irritation as I inch closer to him.
Fear of never being able to do the things I’ve done with him ever again swims inside of me like a virus infecting everything. It has the power to control my actions and decisions. As much as I feel the urge to leave and never look back, there’s an unidentifiable part of me that just won’t let me leave this room.