Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
No.
He opens the car door for her. She says something, and then he leans in and kisses her.
My fists clench at my sides; murder crosses my mind.
I turn, and I punch the wall as hard as I can. The drywall explodes under the impact, and then next thing I know I’m out in the street, marching toward them.
“What are you doing?” Joel stammers, wide eyed.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” I warn him.
I open the passenger-side car door where Juliet is sitting. “Get the fuck out of the car. Now.”
Chapter 22
Juliet
I exhale heavily as I stare out of the car at the maniac. How did I know this was coming?
Stay calm.
“Henley,” I sigh.
“We need to talk.” His chest is rising and falls as he struggles for control.
“It’s too late.”
“No, it’s not,” he fires back.
“Do not dare throw a childish tantrum, Henley. I’m warning you right now,” I yell. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“But . . .” His face falls. “We have everything to talk about.” His voice softens, and I know that somehow the gentle version of Henley James’s personality has shown up.
The one I can’t resist.
“Please . . .” His eyes search mine.
“Henley . . .” I drag my hand through my hair. Damn it. He doesn’t make anything easy, does he? “Now is not the time.”
“Now is the only time.” He stands in front of my open car door so that we can’t drive away. “Please. Can we just talk about this?”
I exhale heavily.
“What’s he doing?” Joel says, unimpressed, from behind the wheel.
“Just . . .” I sigh. What do I even do here? This is so fucking awkward for Joel.
“Last night . . . I don’t know why I say the things I do,” he stammers in a panic. “I don’t mean them. I’m sorry.”
Fuck’s sake. He’s had all day to apologize, and he chooses now to do it?
Of course he does.
I put my hands over my eyes. “Henley,” I snap. “Honestly . . . you’re so infuriating. I am going on a date, and I am not talking to you about this.” I gesture to the road. “Just drive, Joel.”
“Last night . . . you said you loved me . . . Is that still true?” he stammers.
Joel’s eyes flick to me in question. “You love him?”
Fuck.
I close my eyes, ashamed of myself. “It’s . . . complicated.”
“Get out of the car.” Henley takes my hand. “Please.”
“Damn it, Henley,” I snap in frustration. “You don’t love me.”
“Who says?” he spits angrily.
I roll my lips, unimpressed.
“I’m trying to get better for you,” he blurts out in a rush. “I swear I am.”
Fuck . . .
What do I do?
“You should”—Joel rolls his eyes, sensing that our date is over before it began—“go . . .”
“Joel . . .” I look over to him. “We are not together.”
“We are together,” Henley interrupts. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”
Who hasn’t realized it yet, fucker?
“Henley, god damn it!” I snap. “Get into the house now.”
“Are you coming?”
“Yes, I’m fucking coming,” I snap. “I have never known a more infuriating man than you.”
He stands his ground.
“Now.” I point to the house.
He walks over and stands on the curb and folds his arms, defiantly waiting for me.
“I’m so sorry, Joel.” I sigh. “This is unacceptable.”
“I knew he liked you.” We both look over to Henley as he stares back at us through the windshield. “I didn’t know he loved you.”
I let out a deep breath. I’m not even excited by this revelation. In fact, I’m pissed. “I’ll call you through the week?”
“Okay.” He starts the car.
I walk past Henley and into his house. He follows me with his tail between his legs.
I’m so pissed that I can’t even bring myself to say one word to him—not one fucking word.
I sit onto the couch. He tentatively sits down beside me.
“Start talking,” I say.
“Well, firstly . . . I want to apologize. I’ve been out of line.” He pauses as if collecting his thoughts.
You think?
“My behavior last night was just . . . terrible,” he continues. “I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t know what came over me, and I don’t know why I acted like that.”
“Like what? Aggressive and abusive?”
His gaze drops to the floor.
Silence . . .
My heart sinks.
Why do I feel bad for upsetting him?
“Why do you act like this?” I ask him.
“I don’t know . . . ,” he whispers. “It’s like . . . my feelings for you bring out the darkest part of my personality.”
What?
What do you even say to that?
“You said you were trying to get better?” I eventually ask.
“I am,” he says hopefully. “I go twice a week, and Aaron says I’m making progress.”
“Aaron?”
“The psychologist.”
“Making progress with what?”
He hesitates . . .
“Hen.” I look him square in the eye. “Now is the time for honesty,” I say softly. “You at least owe me that.”