Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
"Sounds like some other people I can think of," Kyla spits gritting her teeth as though she’s daring one of us to deny her words.
But it's like they knock everything out of us because she's right in a way. What we all did with Kyla was supposed to be about her, but we were all in it for maxing out our enjoyment. We did nothing to show her that the further we got into the game, the more we wanted from her. We've been so wrapped up in the problems with the business that she's gone out in search of another man.
We should have battled it out between us so that at least one of us could ask Kyla out on a date. Yeah, we all want her, but we'd step aside so that one of us could have her. We’d do that for Kyla and for our friend or brother. We’d make that sacrifice so that she could be happy and protected.
"Please just take me home," she whispers. "I can't do this."
I wish I was in the backseat so I could throw my arm around her shoulders and tell her how much I care about her. I wish she'd hear how everything that happened between us meant so much more than just sex. But we don't even know what to do about this situation. We're not clear on how to make it better. How the hell can we communicate it to Kyla?
The silence in the car is deafening. None of us knows what to say to make things better.
Thank goodness it doesn't take long to get to Kyla's place. Dex steps out of the car to help Kyla, but she doesn't say thank you or goodbye. Her retreating form stomps toward the door and then disappears inside, and we're left to deal with the fallout between us.
"What the fuck happened?" Carl asks when Dex has gotten back in and slammed the door behind him.
"We fucked it all up," Dex says.
Five words sum up our situation.
The question is, what do we do now to make it better, or is it too late to fix?
36
KYLA
I don't think I've ever felt angrier or more ashamed.
And stupid. Don't forget stupid, Kyla. How could I forget stupid?
Was I seriously standing at my mirror imagining a nice date with Daimon only a couple of hours ago? What was the worst that could happen? I thought.
My imagination obviously wasn't capable of fathoming the worst.
That sweet-talking asshole didn't want me. He wanted to watch his huge, meaty-fingered friend fuck me. He wanted a repeat performance of what I did with Kase.
And if that wasn't bad enough, I had to be rescued by the man who took me to that club in the first place and his three friends. I had to face down the men who played a game with me and left me feeling broken.
Shit.
Tears stream down my cheeks like liquid shame and heartache. I should have known that this YOLO thing was only going to go wrong for me. I'm not a live-in-the-moment kind of person. I'm a planner. I'm cautious, and I like to think things through. I need to take my time to work out how I feel. I need to shelter my heart against pain because I know myself. I can't take another fractured heart. I can't cope with any more rejection. My tolerance for emotional hurt has been used up, and now the only way to get through is to shield myself from any possible repeat of what I've been through in the past.
I knew all this about myself, but I wanted to try to let go of the barriers I've put up to protect myself from trauma. I wanted to heal myself by being different. Dawn always seems so happy and free, and I was envious. I wanted that for myself, but what did I end up with?
More hurt.
An ache in my chest that doubles me over.
Panting, I swipe at my cheeks and unstrap my stupid sexy shoes. Daimon didn't deserve them. He didn't deserve an ounce of me, let alone the whole thing.
As I'm swiping off my eye make-up, I get a message from Dawn.
How's it going, you sex goddess. Is he hot? Are you having fun?
What do I tell her? It's a blowout, and I'm already home?
I'm so embarrassed, but she's my best friend, and I can't leave her worrying about me. I made an arrangement to tell her when I'm safely back in my apartment. And I can't lie to her about the date. We don't lie to each other, ever.
My fingers are trembling, so I decide to call her instead.
"There's my girl. Why are you calling me on your hot date?"
"Can you come over?" I mumble, my voice hitching with more tears that are threatening to break through my tight-throated resolve.