Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“You don’t think I’ll wait you out?” he questions as I feel him fall against the door, probably mimicking my stance. “I’ve got all night.”
I roll my eyes, scoffing with irritation. “You can’t go two minutes without eating. You’ll starve.”
“Say what you want, but I anticipated this,” he says, his voice no longer coming from above me, but below, having slid down the door until he’s sitting against it. “I brought snacks.”
Fucking asshole.
“And when you need to pee?”
Something bangs against the door. “What do you think this is for?”
“Ha,” I say with a scoff. “Suit yourself.”
Then just to make a point, I stride back across my apartment and drop down onto the couch, more than ready to spend every waking hour right here. If that asshole wants to sit at my door for the foreseeable future, then that’s on his bad judgment. I have Grey’s Anatomy to binge, and just because I’m a petty bitch, I’ll turn the volume up just enough to drown out anything he might have to say, but not loud enough that he can actually enjoy the show. If he wants to sit there all night, then he can suffer while doing it.
Getting comfortable, I pull my blanket up over me and hit play, only I’m suddenly not able to concentrate like I was before, and what I would usually find the sweetest pleasure in has become background noise as all my attention remains focused on the closed door.
An hour turns into two, and when silent tears track down my face, I hit pause on my show before getting up and tiptoeing across my home. I see the slight shadow under my door, telling me that he’s still here, and I have to give him credit, if roles were reversed, I would have taken off long ago. My bladder couldn’t possibly handle a stakeout, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I pee into a bottle.
I stand by the door and lean against the drywall with a soft sigh. Despite how I feel about him right now, being close to him gives me comfort. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him. Then just as he has, I slide down until my ass hits the floor and we’re sitting back-to-back, trapped in an awful silence with my front door between us.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and stare across my apartment, desperately wishing things could be different. Wishing he never had to hurt me like that. Wishing I never had to love him. Why couldn’t this have been easy? Why did it have to be him in that room? I needed it to be anyone but him.
As if sensing my need for comfort, a block of chocolate slides under the door. “I can smell your perfume, Birdy. Do you have any idea what the scent does to me?”
He did not just call me that.
Anger blasts through my veins as I spring to my feet, and with the quickest flick of my wrist, I reach up and unlock the door before twisting the handle and letting his body weight do the rest. The door flings wide as Izaac crashes into my apartment, his back slamming against my floor as a loud Oomph tears from his chest.
“What the fu—”
“YOU DON’T GET TO CALL ME THAT!” I throw myself at him, my fists already swinging, and as my body crashes into his, he catches me with ease. He flips us until my back is against the creaky floorboards, and he hovers over me, his strong grip locked around my wrists, holding both hands captive above my head.
“You’re an asshole,” I grit, willing myself not to let him see me cry as he keeps me pinned.
“If I let you go, are you going to try to attack me again?”
God, why does he have to smell so good?
“Can’t make any promises.”
His gaze narrows, and he holds my stare for a moment longer, the tension radiating off both of us, but the longer he holds me hostage, the harder it becomes to remember why I want to hate him so much.
He keeps me pinned for a moment longer before finally getting up, and instead of being the perfect gentleman as usual, he just leaves me there, my legs and feet hanging outside of my apartment.
Izaac makes himself at home, striding through my little apartment and stopping in the kitchen, bracing his elbows against the counter and waiting for me to finally make a move.
Letting out a groan, I get back to my feet and kick my door closed, sensing his gaze locked on me, but what’s new? I can always tell when his eyes are on me. “I suppose you’re not going to leave now?”
“After I just waited two fucking hours to get through the door? Fuck no.”