Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Rian follows me home. He gives me a little more space this time around, but he’s there, lurking in the background. I hate it, and I want him to leave me alone, but I know that isn’t happening. Maybe I should accept it and stop struggling so hard. He did save my life back there in the street, even though I want to pretend like that didn’t happen. His strong hands yanked me away just before that SUV flew through when I’d been about to walk, and if it weren’t for him, I’d be roadkill right now.
That gets under my skin. It’s one thing to have Rian following me around, but another for him to save my life. And to top it all off, it had to involve a damn car. It brings me back to the night Megan died, to Rian sitting with me in a quiet corner while a party raged in the other room, to his hands on my thigh and his lips close to mine, to the smell of whisky on his lips and the way he smiled at me—
But I can’t think about that. The memory makes me want to stand up and scream in the middle of this subway car. I’m too exhausted, too torn by everything going on, and if I let myself go down that memory lane right now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to draw myself back out again.
There’s too much pain. Too much suffering. And I worked so hard to put as much of it as I could behind me.
When I get into my apartment, I collapse onto the couch, kick my shoes off, close my eyes—
And there’s a knock at my door.
“No,” I call out. “Not tonight. Go away.” I don’t want to see him right now. Not when I’ve been dreaming about that night again. One of the best of my life and the worst of my life.
The door pushes open and Rian steps in. I groan and try not to scream. He stands there looking at me, his eyes moving down along my bare feet, up my legs, and stopping to linger on my lips before meeting my gaze.
“How was your first day?”
“Seriously Rian, please just go away.” I’m blinking back tears, and I hate myself for getting so emotional. I try to discreetly wipe my face so he doesn’t realize I’m about to cry.
He closes the door behind him. “Sorry, princess. You nearly got your ass run over earlier. I’m keeping a very close eye on you.”
“Does my father know you’re doing this?” By this, I mean torturing me.
“I spoke with your brother earlier, which is the next best thing. Everyone’s worried.” He walks over to the kitchen and starts going through my cabinets. “Do you have anything to drink in this place? Wine, beer, whisky, whatever? God, nothing at all?”
I clench my hands into fists at the thought of him drinking in front of me. The fucking bastard has no shame at all.
“If you want something to drink, there’s a bar down the block. Go enjoy. I’ll leave my door bolted.”
He snorts and gives a little excited grunt when he finds the old bottle of Tito’s Vodka I keep in the back of the cabinet over the refrigerator. He pours himself a glass, adds some ice, and stands in the hallway, studying me.
“Want me to cook dinner?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I want you to leave. I can’t deal with you right now, okay? Just leave me alone, please.”
“That’s not happening. I’m hanging around for a while, so you might as well put me to good use. I know you think I’ve turned into some brainless clan thug since you last saw me, and I’ll admit that’s not too far from the truth. But I also learned how to cook.”
I frown as he takes a sip of his drink. “Seriously?”
“It’s boring, eating the same old shit. And besides, there’s a ton of recipes on YouTube.”
“I find it very hard to imagine you watching cooking videos online.”
“Then you need to expand your imagination.”
“Rian, I don’t want you to cook for me. I don’t want you in my apartment. I don’t want you in my life. If I could go back in time and make it so we never met, I’d gladly do it. So please, I’m begging you, just go away.” I’m on the verge of crying again. My hands are shaking, and I keep looking at that drink, that stupid drink, and thinking back to that night. He’d been drinking most of that night, and I didn’t see any problem with it back then—it was a party and that’s what people do at parties. But now, in retrospect, with everything I know, I wish I’d screamed at him to stay sober. I wish I’d begged him.