Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
I want to go to her, grab her, kiss her. Fuck the answers I want from her. But I don’t. I may have gotten away with my mouth on hers the night before, but not now. Not the way she’s glaring.
“The letter, kitten.”
She curls her hands into fists. “For God’s sake, Chance, I’m no longer your kitten. I’m not sure I ever was.”
“You were. Are. But I’ll play your game. The letter…Avery.”
“Game? You seriously think I’m playing some kind of game?” She shakes her head. “Get out.”
I stand my ground. “You’re right. I should have used that word. But I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me about this supposed letter.”
Her eyes turn to fire. “Supposed letter? You’re something else.”
“I want to know about it.”
She looks up at the ceiling, crosses her arms over her chest. While the action covers her perfect tits, it slides the hem of her shirt up a few inches.
“You wrote it,” she snaps.
I never wrote a letter, but as I look at Avery, I see no evidence of deceit in her countenance. Still, I could be misreading her. It’s been a long time.
I draw in a breath. “You obviously don’t like what it said.”
“Get out, Chance.” Her voice is soft.
And with that, I know. I know I’m not misreading her. There’s a letter involved, and she thinks I wrote it.
And whatever was in this mystery letter is bad. Fuck.
I drop to the crappy wooden chair in the corner. I’m not going anywhere. “Show me the letter.”
“I can’t.”
Maybe I didn’t misread her after all. I lift my eyebrows. “Oh?”
“I burned it,” she says. “Burned it to fucking ashes, Chance.”
I ache to go to her, to touch her. I was right. I didn’t misread her.
“Then tell me what it said,” I say softly.
“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”
I don’t answer, only lean forward, set my elbows on my thighs. I’m not eager to hear what it said because I know it’s bad. It’s clearly what tore us apart. The only thing I know for sure is that I didn’t fucking write it.
“It was fun, but it’s over.” She keeps her focus on the patterned carpet at her feet. “You’re good and all, but I can’t keep you. You have to know that. I’m a Bridger and you’re just another pussy I fucked at the spring.” She sighs. “That’s about the gist of it.”
I pop to my feet. “What the fuck?” I shout, knowing full well ’that I’m waking anyone else who may be sharing walls with Avery’s room.
“I’m not repeating it,” she says.
“You don’t have to.” I take a step toward her.
She retreats.
I take another step. “You think I wrote that shit?”
“It was signed by you. You mentioned the spring. You know, where I was just another pussy.”
Rage pulses through me. Who the hell saw us? And she knew that she was my first. We talked about it. We…
Fuck. She thinks I lied to her. That—
I take another step toward her, trying to push down the anger because it’s not directed at her. It’s directed at whoever wrote the damned letter—and I have a pretty good idea who was behind it. “We were together for two years, Avery. I never took anyone there. Before or after you. You know it was the first time for both of us.”
She blinks. “Yeah, well, it’s fine. You made yourself clear with everything that you wrote before that.”
I tear my hat off, fling it on her unmade bed, and run my hands through my hair. “I didn’t write that! I didn’t write you a letter. Do I seem like the guy to write a fucking letter?”
She flinches.
“Fuck, kitten. That’s what happened? You got that letter and left?”
“I—”
“Was it in my handwriting? Did you recognize my signature?”
“I—” She shakes her head. “You didn’t write letters, Chance. I didn’t know your signature.”
“You’re right.” I take another step. “I didn’t write letters. I don’t write letters.”
She steps back again, leans against the wall. “What are you saying?” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.
I close the space between us, but I don’t touch her. Since I’m taller, I bend at the waist so my eyes meet hers, which are now swimming with tears.
“Someone got between us, and I have a pretty fucking good idea of who.”
She licks her lips, the color leached from her soft cheeks.
“Your father?” she whispers.
I nod, close my eyes so I don’t punch my fist through the wall.
“But how—”
“It doesn’t matter now.” I don’t want to take a second to think about how he did it. Or why. “What matters is that you’re here.”
I can’t hold back from touching her any longer. I reach up, cup her cheek, and tip her face up to mine. “That you’re mine again. You always were, kitten.”
She shakes her head slightly and I tug at her silky hair.