Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“I’m going to cook dinner.“
He lowers his brow. “You.“
Thanks to how I keep grinding them together, all of my teeth will be broken by the time this is over. “What is so unbelievable about that? Do you think I’m completely clueless? That I can’t use a stove?“
“I don’t think you really want an answer to that question.“
All I can do is shake my head. It’s that, or I might lurch across the room and strangle him. “What does it feel like, being so high up on your horse all the time?“
“It’s not so bad.“
Yes, his face is begging for a slap. So much so that my hand twitches, and I have to shove it into the pocket of my hoodie or else risk making a mistake that will feel really good at the moment but that I might regret later. “What’s the point of having a fully stocked pantry if we don’t plan to cook anything? I swear, if you force-feed me another French fry, I’m going to scream.” To make my point, I go to the trashcan and pull out the latest paper bag from today’s fast food meal.
“Okay, you don’t have to keep arguing.“ He holds his hands up, scowling like he does when he’s not smirking like a smartass. “I swear, you don’t know when enough is enough.”
All that does is make me laugh. “Well, first, it’s never enough. I’ll always have something to say, so either cover your ears or walk away if you don’t want to hear it.” He follows me into the kitchen, and I am really going to need a mouthguard before long if he doesn’t get off my back. I fling open the cabinets, scanning the contents. I don’t know what I expected – it’s not like anything will be different. It’s the same stuff I’ve been looking at for days. “Hmmm, I can make spaghetti.“ Since that’s easy enough and, since I really don’t know how to make very many things. It seems like the simplest and least dangerous option.
“Are you sure you can handle making that?“
The slam of the cabinet door makes him flinch. It’s enough to make me want to open it again just to slam it a second time. “Is there ever going to be a point where you’re tired of insulting me? Please, let me know so that I can prepare.“
All he does is snicker and fold his arms across his chest, and even his charcoal gray T-shirt isn’t enough to make me forget what he’s hiding beneath the cotton. I haven’t been able to shake the image of his muscular bare chest from my mind for days, no matter how much I try. I don’t need to be thinking of him that way. Things are messy enough as is. Besides, what would I do if he noticed me staring and decided to do something about it? As it is, I flinch when he passes close enough to give me a whiff of his cologne. Even when I know he has no intention of hurting or touching me, his nearness makes me freeze.
Yet another thing that bastard took. Being too close to a man is enough to make my heart seize in my chest.
Once he pulls a bottle of water from the fridge, he heads out to the front porch. “I have a phone call I need to make.” Not that I asked what he was doing, but it allows me to catch my breath and relax a little. Being in such close quarters sometimes makes me feel like an animal in a zoo. It doesn’t help that he always seems to be watching. Waiting for me to crack.
It’s my fault I’m stuck with him, too, which makes everything worse. Of all people to go to when it became too much, keeping the secret that somebody I stupidly believed would one day be my father-in-law had been harassing me. I didn’t want to go to Romero–anybody but him–but he was the only other person besides Dad who might’ve been able to do anything about it. I figured he could at least give me a little advice on how to respond since I knew without being told that he must have witnessed whatever Dad did to Kristoff.
I might even have hoped he would confess. Give me a little closure so I can finally stop assuming what happened. I should’ve known better–he’s the human equivalent of Fort Knox, locked up tight. I tried as long as I could, as hard as I could, to keep it to myself. Everything Kristoff did to me, all the terrible things he said, the way he made me feel. Small, useless, like a stupid slut. I’m still ashamed, even if I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything wrong. It was Kristoff who was wrong. It was Kristoff who hurt me. It was Kristoff who made it impossible for anybody to get too close to me without my body seizing up in panic.