Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
There won’t be finding a boyfriend or even dating casually. Hell, I won’t be able to give a dude a hand job while we’re making out in a dark corner.
There has to be a way out of this. Somehow, I have to find a way to make Zeke see he doesn’t have to jump through Dad’s hoops now that we’re miles away. What if he meets somebody he likes and wants alone time with her?
I hate the ache in my chest when the idea hits me. Zeke with some random skank. Kissing and touching her. Doing all the things I’ve imagined him doing to me. Letting her do all the things I want to do to him.
No. Wanted. Past tense. I grip the bedspread with both fists, squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I can. I need to stop thinking of him that way. I was stupid and had a crush, and that’s it. One of those dumb things.
Nothing was ever going to happen between us. All the looks I thought he gave me were in my head. He’s never been interested, never seen me as anything more than a spoiled brat. A princess.
And now, after that awful night, he hardly touches me. The dull ache in my arm reminds me of his touch. I’m surprised he didn’t wash his hands right after like I’m dirty.
He was too busy destroying the phone I bought, the prick. Money down the drain. I wanted to kill him right there in the parking lot, in front of anybody who passed by. Running him down with the car, crushing him the way he’s crushing me, even if he doesn’t know it.
“You hungry, princess?” His voice floats in from the other side of the closed door.
I grit my teeth rather than telling him to go fuck himself for calling me that. He knows it gets under my skin, which is the only reason he keeps using the word. If I show him how much I hate it, he’s only going to do it more. “Yeah, I was thinking about fixing something in a little bit,” I reply as evenly as I can.
He snorts. “Right. Like the princess is going to cook her own food.”
I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help myself. This snide son of a bitch. I march over to the door and fling it wider. He’s standing there, hands in his pockets, smirking like this was exactly the reaction he was looking for. I fucking hate him. “You can go fuck yourself, you know that?”
“Ouch, such language.”
“What? Are you going to tell your boss on me? Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You scamper back to him like the little lapdog you are and report every fucking thing I do. Apparently, some people call that a job nowadays.”
That did it. His eyes aren’t twinkling anymore. “Watch it, kid.”
“No, you watch it. For one thing, you’re not even that much older than me, so cut the bullshit, okay?” When all he does is smirk, I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep myself centered. Otherwise, I might use those nails to claw his eyes out. “For another thing, I know how to cook for myself. I know how to do a hell of a lot of things, and you want to know why? Because until my father found me, it was just my mom and me, and I was home alone most of the time. If I was hungry, I had to cook for myself. If there was a mess, I had to clean it up. In fact, I did most of the chores around the house because my mother was so tired from working two jobs that she never had the energy. I did the laundry, the dishes, scrubbed the bathroom. I made sure something was waiting for her to eat when she got home from a shift.” I have to stop. I’m either going to scream or cry if I don’t. How dare he? He doesn’t know the first thing about what my life used to be like.
His jaw twitches. “Do you want an award?”
I’m pretty sure I’m breaking the skin on my palms. The stinging pain is almost welcome. “No, asshole. I don’t want an award. I want a little respect. I wasn’t raised with money. There were years when my clothes for school all came from Goodwill, and even then, Mom had to save up while she went to work in shoes with holes in the bottoms. So you can fuck yourself with this princess bullshit.”
I can’t even believe he needs to think about this. If I were him, I’d be apologizing right now. Maybe even on my hands and knees. But no, he’s going to stand there, looking me up and down, with his lips pursed tight like he’s actually thinking it over. Like this is up for debate or something.