Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Poor little kitten. She's terrified to be here, and yet she ran here anyway.
"You okay?" I ask.
"I keep expecting them to grab pitchforks," she confesses on a strained whisper.
I frown, my brows pulling together. "You haven't been charged with anything yet."
"Doesn't matter," she mumbles, pushing the button for the elevator. "Rumors about my supposed relationship with Rory are already spreading, and that's all most people need to form an opinion. It's human nature to rush to judgement, especially when someone dies."
She's not wrong. People don't wait until a trial to decide whether someone is innocent or guilty. They make up their minds based on rumor and media speculation, never even considering what happens if they're wrong. Most figure life just goes on for the wrongly accused and no one gets hurt. They're wrong, though. Life doesn't continue uninterrupted. Even when found innocent, a cloud follows those suspected or charged with a crime. It's part of the reason I'm so goddamn careful. Ruining lives just to close a case doesn't appeal to me.
"If they're angry, it's because they're hurting," I say, crossing my arms and leaning back against the elevator wall. I tilt my head against the wall so I can see her. "People aren't logical when they're grieving."
"I know," she murmurs as the elevator climbs toward the sixth floor. "I don't blame them for feeling the way they do. A good kid took his own life and as far as anyone who cared about him knows, I'm the person who pushed him into doing it. They should be angry about that. What Fake Ivy said and did to him is beyond awful."
"It is," I agree.
"Knowing he had people in his life who cared enough about him to be angry on his behalf is comforting to me," she says. "The thought that he may have jumped from that bridge believing no one cared about him because of her kills me. No one should ever have to wonder if they're wanted or needed, or if they're loved. I hate that she hid behind my name while trying to strip that sense of belonging away from him."
I smash the button to stop the elevator.
It shudders to a halt, jarring Ivy.
Before she can ask what I'm doing, I'm on her, pinning her to the wall as my mouth crashes down on hers. Her hands instantly find their way into my hair, holding me to her as she kisses me back with everything in her. She pours her sorrow for Rory into me, and I take it without complaint. I'll carry it for her. Whatever she needs me to carry, for however long she needs me to carry it.
I'm so in love with this girl, there is no denying it anymore. I don't even try.
"Fuck," I grunt, grabbing her hands and pushing them up against the wall beside her head to keep her still. If she touches me, I'm going to be fucking her right here in this elevator. I hold her still, my tongue dancing along hers, and then I bite her bottom lip and reluctantly slow the kiss, releasing her arms. I cup her face between my palms, resting my forehead against hers.
"Cam," she whispers.
"So fucking sweet," I mumble, my breathing ragged. "I had to kiss you." My gaze runs over her, hot and wild. "I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to make it through the day without being inside you, kitten. My dick knows what heaven feels like now, and he wants more."
"So do I," she says, boldly holding my gaze. "You feel so good when you're inside me, Cam. I can still feel you."
"Fuck." She's trying to break me.
Her pleased grin confirms it.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control again. It's hard as hell when I still smell her, still taste her on me. But I do it. I tilt my head down, meeting her gaze. "Soon," I promise, smashing the button to get the elevator moving again.
She nods silently.
Ivy hesitates on the threshold of Rory's dorm room before stepping inside. Her gaze darts around, taking in the space. The double occupancy dorm has one small bed on each side. The room isn't small, but it's not exactly massive either. Two desks sit against the walls on opposite sides of the room, both cluttered with books, paper, pens, and all those weird things college kids collect over the course of a semester.
One side of the room is neat and tidy. A couple of small band posters hang on the wall in frames. Shoes are lined up beneath the edge of the bed in an orderly row, and a basket of folded laundry rests on top of the dark comforter on the bed.
The other side of the room has clearly been rifled through, making it obvious which side is Rory's. His bed sits slightly askew on the frame, the pale blue comforter wrinkled as if someone lifted it up or sat on it. A mug on the desk is toppled, pens, pencils, and erasers scattered across the top. A haphazard stack of papers threatens to tumble off onto the floor. Books have been pulled off the shelf over the desk and hastily put back in place.