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)
“But…I didn’t even do the right thing when I found you! It drives me crazy!”
I’ll kill him with my bare hands.
Moments tick by.
“I’m starting to think no one really knows you. You hire a private investigator, you fight with Liam over me…” I murmur, shaking my head.
Tentatively and carefully, he reaches out and touches my hand. “Don’t you know me, Tulip?”
My body tingles at the use of my middle name combined with his hand, and dang, it’s such a simple thing, but…
“You’ve told me more than the cops ever did.”
My frustration ebbs away, leaving bitterness and regret, yet in the end, I can’t blame anything on Knox. I went to that party. I let my guard down. I own that.
“Thank you for taking me to Piper’s. You might have saved my life. I seriously entertained the idea of a coyote getting me,” I add, trying for levity, but he doesn’t laugh. “Anyway, I could have choked on my own vomit out there in the woods.”
His jaw tightens.
I sigh.
“I’m not mad at you.” I stand up.
He stands, gray eyes holding mine.
“But I can tell you can’t make up your mind about something when it comes to me. You’re holding back.”
He crosses his arms. “Trust me, that’s a good thing.”
“Is it?” I cock my head. “Tell me, what else have you done for me lately? Someone paid for my housing, and you were the one who came out of Trask’s office before I went in—after I’d just told you I wasn’t in the dorms. Was that you?”
He drops his eyes and paces around the stage.
“Knox?”
He waves me off and plops down on the piano seat. “I blamed myself for not staying at the party and making sure nothing happened to you.”
“Uh-huh. We’ve established that point. You’re not answering my question.”
He nods. “At the same time, I got all this information about you from the P.I.—how you grew up, how your mom left you with a baby, how you beat the odds and managed to get a scholarship to Camden. You’re a bright star in this shitty place. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Was it you?”
He stands and marches over to me, staring down at me with those hot eyes. “I know underneath that tough-girl exterior, you’d do anything for the people you love. Do you know how rare that is? People may say they care and love, but from what I’ve seen, they only look out for themselves. You, though, you feel so intensely. You love so hard you came back to Camden for your brother—”
“Is there anything about me you don’t know? When I was spilling my guts to you in class and at Lou’s, did you already know those things?”
“I knew about your mom. I knew she left you, and I knew you lived on the streets sometimes. I knew Trask had asked you back and you requested to live in the dorms, but—”
He stops and swallows, his brow furrowed. He turns back to me, meeting my gaze, holding it steady. Still he doesn’t speak. I see that mask slipping back onto his face.
“Knox? Don’t you pussy out on me. This is the most honest conversation we’ve had, and I want to hear it all.”
I move closer, and part of me knows it throws him off, makes him uneasy. The smell of him, like summer and ocean waves, surrounds me.
My eyes trace the hard lines of his jaw, the long, strong nose, the way his dark hair falls around his face.
When he speaks, the words come reluctantly. “You’ve always fascinated me, okay? Since day one, since the moment you waltzed through those doors with your long blonde hair and eyes full of all that hope. Everyone else comes here and they already have everything, but you had nothing—nothing except your power. You barely looked at any of us, especially me, and I knew then you were untouchable, knew you deserved better than any guy at Camden.” He pauses. “Then Chance…you gave him a shot.”
He thinks I have power?
I’m untouchable?
A small laugh comes from me, some of that confidence I’ve lost along the way reemerging. The king of Camden sees me…he sees me as someone I never have.
He touches my hair, just barely. “You walked in Monday with all your hair cut off and a different color and, fuck, I was sad.”
My heart thuds. “Really?”
“Mmmm. When I sat behind you in class, I used to touch it with my pencil, and you never even noticed. You smell like vanilla, do you know that?”
I’m afraid to say anything, to stop him.
“Every day I’d get a little braver and barely touch my pencil to your shoulder, your arm. I was afraid to want you, then hurt you—”
The auditorium door creaks open and we hear two voices—teacher voices.
“We’re not supposed to be in here,” I hiss.