Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I just…
I just…
His scarred face.
His deep, stormy eyes.
Something twisted and dark that resides in me yearns for him.
And I don’t even know when it snuck up on me.
I just know the real me gravitates to broken people. Their secrets. I wonder what mysteries made him like this, what or who gave him this fragmented heart, the fractured sense of how he sees himself with that slash on his face.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, and I guess I’m sorry for not being strong enough to say those words out loud.
“Nothing’s happened between us, Ava. Get that sad look off your face.”
He misunderstands.
I’m not sad for what I just did. I’m sad because he’s out of my reach.
He swallows. “Shit, don’t break up with him. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s good. He’ll treat you right.” Then, “Just stay away from me,” he pushes out, his voice gravelly and rough as he puts his back to me, and I sense him gathering himself, fortifying, building up his force field.
His shoulders heave with a long exhalation.
“Knox?”
He puts his hand on the doorknob. “What?”
“You’re not ugly. You’re beautiful.”
He pauses but opens the door and slams it shut.
Eventually, I come out of that bathroom after I hear slamming doors and cars driving away. I tiptoe out and find Chance passed out on the couch. Even in sleep, he’s handsome, his full lips parted as he breathes heavily. Beer bottles litter the coffee tables. A half-smoked joint burns in an ashtray. My gaze goes back to him. I should break up with him. Can you even call it breaking up when we aren’t technically dating? His eyes open and he groggily sits up. “Babe…where did you go?” He gives me a squinty look. “Did I screw up? You look weird.”
I sit next to him. “Are you embarrassed by me?”
“No!”
I nod, forging ahead. If I want this, we need to talk. “You keep pressuring me for sex, but I’m not easy, Chance. I want a guy who’s proud to be with me, one who takes me on dates.” I wave my hands around at the mess of his house. “And before you say this was a date, you’re wrong. I want you to come to the group home, meet my brother, and pick me up.”
He recoils then frowns, his forehead scrunching up. “I didn’t realize you were…old-fashioned like that. It’s just the height of football season and being a Shark, we kind of just do what we want…” He trails off, wincing. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sure as shit not talking to any other girls right now, Ava.” He reaches over and cups my nape, pulling our faces close. “Hey, don’t get any crazy ideas of leaving me, okay? We have a game Friday, but Saturday it’s just me and you, feel me? I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.” A lopsided grin curves his lips. “And I’m sorry for pressuring you. You’re just so beautiful and I’m horny. Plus, everybody else was getting lucky.”
I give him a wan smile. “Yeah.”
That Saturday night never came, though.
Because on Friday, I went to the keg party.
With a deep breath, I come back to reality and class. I push those moments with Knox away from me.
Not able to help myself, I look back at Chance, feeling that wave of disappointment and anger that inevitably strikes me when I see him.
As if he knows I was thinking about him, he looks at me. His hand is clasped tightly with Brooklyn’s. Oh, how fast he ran to her.
“How you doing, Brooklyn?” I call out. She’s pretty with sleek chestnut hair that curls around her face. Her mouth twists like she’s eating a lemon, ignoring me.
She’s Jolena’s bestie. What did I expect?
Flipping back around, I study Knox’s hard profile. “Pew-pew-pew. That’s me shooting down your troops, you know, those guards you station around yourself so you don’t have to talk to me.”
“Mmmm.”
“He speaks! Or mumbles—I can’t tell.”
“We’re in class,” he says dryly.
“Hasn’t started yet. You know, I was thinking about Patrick Swayze. Ghost, admittedly, is an excellent movie if you like pottery and spirits and crazy mediums. Point Break is my personal favorite of his. The surfing, jumping out of planes, adrenaline junkie, and those abs—sign me up. But Road House, now that’s like top three worst movies ever made. I appreciate his fighting skills, but the storyline—a pacifist slash bouncer? Pfft.”
“What are the other movies on your worst list?” He still won’t look at me, but he leans a miniscule bit closer, just a hair.
“Showgirls. Elizabeth Berkley as a Vegas stripper—no thanks.”
“Not a Saved by the Bell fan?”
“Nope. And it goes without saying Saw I, II, III, IV, V, and VI all suck.”
“What about Saw VII?”
My mouth gapes. “They made another one? Say it ain’t so.”
“So.” He smirks and looks down at his laptop.