Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“That sounds good.”
“Do you like Taco Loco?”
“Love it. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Me, too.” He smirks. “See how perfect we are for each other? We’re a match made in taco heaven.”
He could be right about that. I do love my tacos.
As we stare at each other, a sense of rightness fills me. After a long stretch of moments, his eyelids close.
“You wore me out last night, babe,” he whispers.
Hmmm. I kind of like the sound of that. Maybe I’ll get it printed on a T-shirt.
As I reach for my phone, it occurs to me that I still don’t have Crosby’s number. That needs to change. I can’t be in a relationship and not be able to call or text him. With my cell in hand, I tap the screen and open the message app. He rolls onto his back before throwing one brawny arm over his eyes.
“What’s your number?”
With a yawn, he rattles off a string of digits and I quickly punch them in. As I do, my conversation with Chris pops up.
My brows slide together as my forehead furrows. I haven’t talked or texted with him since I ended our relationship the morning after the fundraiser.
“What the hell?” I mutter, more to myself than him.
Instead of asking Crosby to repeat the number, I type one word.
Hey
My finger hovers over the send button and the muscles in my belly tighten as I force myself to hit it. I have no idea why my heartbeat picks up its tempo, slamming painfully against my ribcage. One second ticks by and then another in the stillness of the room.
Just as my muscles loosen and relief rushes in to fill the void, a faint ding comes from somewhere in the vicinity of Crosby’s joggers on the floor.
My lips part in shock as gooseflesh prickles along my arms and legs.
No.
This has to be some kind of weird coincidence, right?
It’s not possible to have his number, because that would mean…
My brain shies away from the implications of that thought.
I glance at Crosby. His breathing has turned deep and even again. My teeth scrape against my lower lip as I type out another message with shaking fingers. The faint whisps of nausea curling through my belly have become more pronounced. The acidic taste of bile rises in my throat, threatening to explode.
Who is this?
Again, I hit send and silently send up a prayer that these two boys are not one and the same.
There’s another corresponding ding, announcing a new message.
This can’t be happening.
I throw off the blankets and shoot from the bed before stumbling toward his haphazard pile of clothing. We’d been in such a hurry last night to get naked. All I’d wanted was to feel him sinking inside my body.
That thought makes my insides churn.
I can’t focus on that right now. I can’t think about how we’d stared into each other’s eyes the entire time he was inside me, carefully stroking us both to orgasm. The realization that I’ve been lied to cuts me to the very bone. Once I have his joggers, I make quick work of searching his pockets. Delving inside, I wrap my fingers around the slim device before pulling it out and staring at it.
A glance at the exterior shows that there aren’t any scratches, dings, or dents. Nothing to confirm that it was dropped or broken. As soon as I tap the screen, it lights up. Clearly, it’s in perfect working order.
Just another lie he fed me.
More damning than that are the messages I just sent.
It’s almost comical the way Crosby jerks upright on the bed. Except there’s nothing humorous about this situation. How could there be when it feels like my beating heart is being ripped out of my chest and I can barely breathe?
My jaw turns slack as I stare at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“Brooke, it’s not what you—”
“Think?” I supply, dropping my gaze to the phone once more. If I weren’t looking at the evidence in my hand, I’d be tempted to dismiss it.
Even though I’ve made a concerted effort to keep Chris and Crosby separate, I allow all my interactions with them to crash through my head. As a timeline develops, horror fills me, rising in my throat, until it’s almost enough to choke on.
“Is that what you were going to say?” My voice escalates with each word that sprays from my mouth like bullets as I hold up his phone. “Are you really going to sit there, look me in the eyes, and tell me you’re not Chris?”
He smashes his lips into a tight line before shaking his head. “No, I can’t tell you that.”
I suck in an unsteady breath. Even though I’d quickly pieced together the truth, it still feels like a slap in the face to hear him confirm it.
My brain slows as I mentally rake over every interaction with more care. All the secrets I’d confided without much prodding. Masturbating on the phone. Crosby pulling me aside and apologizing out of the blue. Asking Chris to meet up for coffee and Crosby showing up instead. Him loitering outside my apartment after the dinner with Mom. And like an idiot, I’d invited him up. It was the first time we’d kissed. Then the convo in the car the next morning. Him showing up at the fundraiser and us having sex.