Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
That's what he's going to do to me.
He's going to undo my binding. Spread my pages on the floor. Let them blow away in the wind.
I'm mixing metaphors here. I'm not thinking straight. Because I can't think straight.
Only of his soft lips and his rough touch and that deep tone of his voice.
And how much I want to hear him say come for me, vixen.
And how much I want to hear him say I love you, all of you, the ugly parts and the beautiful ones. The girl you hide behind the makeup and the combat boots and the girl you present to the world.
All the scars. All the secrets.
Everything.
But I can't want that. I barely know him.
Only that isn't true. Not anymore. I do know him. Not just because his hands have been inside me. Not just because I've tasted him. Not just because I've felt his name on my lips.
Because I have the book right here. I'm prying it open, peeling the pages apart, underlining all my favorite sections.
Asking what the hell does it mean?
Maybe it's like any great literature.
Maybe there is no right answer.
Or maybe I'm already halfway to the ground. Because I can't think of fiction without thinking of him.
Splat.
I'm a puddle on the concrete.
Pages blowing in the wind.
A mixed metaphor to end all mixed metaphors.
I guess I should state it plainly.
I'm terrified of falling in love with him.
It feels so boring, so obvious, so done. How can I be so conventional?
Maybe I'm not the rebel I think I am.
Maybe I'm a coward.
But I see that ledge and I want to jump.
To give him my body, my mind, my heart.
Can I do that?
Can I handle what he'll give me in return?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ian
I wake to a Google alert. A new entry on Eve's site.
I haven't looked. I've been good. Practiced restraint.
He Likes Me, He Likes Me Not
Dear Diary,
I like a boy. Does he like me? Let me find a daisy and count the petals. He likes me. He likes me not. He likes me. He likes me not.
Can you imagine?
It's about me.
She's telling the fucking world about me.
I need to know what she's saying. What she's thinking. Everything inside her beautiful head.
My finger brushes the cell screen. Every molecule in my body wants to click the link. To dive into her thoughts. Take every one of them, hold them close, claim them as mine.
I fight the urge.
Put the fucking phone aside.
Dress.
I'm late for flying a fucking helicopter. I don't have the mental space for this.
She demands it anyway.
She stays in my head as I eat, fly, finish an hour at the gym, shower, fix dinner.
He Likes Me, He Likes Me Not.
The curiosity in her grey-green eyes.
The sly smile on her raspberry lips.
The proud lift of her chest.
Not just her body.
Her heart. Her mind.
I can't handle how much I want all of her.
But I can handle how much I want to fuck her.
I can give her what she needs there.
I pull out my cell.
Send exactly the text to tease her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Eve
I sleep in late. Take Addie to brunch. Listen to her swoon over her girlfriend. Isn't Marisol funny? And she's so smart too. I'm pretty sure she knows everything. She introduced me to this amazing new movie. It's all artsy and weird. You would love it.
When we order refills of our drinks—coffee for her, a pot of masala chai for me—she spots a tall guy in a suit. Changes the subject to Ian.
"It's the weekend." She fixes her coffee, making sure to leave half the side of almond milk for me. "Why aren't you with him?"
"Hmm… Maybe I like spending time with my sister? Imagine that." I left his apartment yesterday. It's been less than twenty-four hours.
But I sent him that picture…
And he still hasn't replied.
Or maybe he has. My cell is still charging at my desk. I haven't checked since last night. Addie and I made a no phones policy for our weekend breakfasts a long time ago.
They're usually oatmeal at the kitchen table. Sometimes pancakes or toaster waffles.
This… an actual brunch out. Raspberry chocolate chip pancakes, loose leaf tea, house-made almond milk, someone bringing food to us—
It's a dream.
Or it was. Two weeks ago.
Now…
The world at my fingertips and I'm spending my time thinking about a boy.
That isn't quite true.
I'm here, with my sister. I'm writing in my journal. I'm reading. What's more important than family, self-discovery, literature?
Why does my mind keep going back to Ian?
"You want to be with him. Or at least you want to be on top of him. It's all over your face." She draws a circle around my face with her hand, as if to prove a point. "You look so… needy."
"I do not."
She nods yeah, you do. "Check with your pocket mirror. Trust me. It's a new look for you."
"Horny?"
Her laugh is easy. "More or less."