Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
I open my eyes, but I’m faced forward. I can’t see him behind me. “I just…I want to feel…it’s dumb.”
“It’s not dumb,” he says gently. “Can you turn to look at me?”
I roll onto my back. He’s knelt off my body again, his waistband riding low on his hips. The V-line of his muscles are sexy, but I’m less turned-on by the fact because a new tension hangs between us—and it’s not the sexual kind anymore.
My face burns in a multitude of emotions. It’s not that I think he’s questioning my freak-level. I’m pretty confident he’s more attracted to my oddity than my normality at this point.
He’s trying to catch my runaway gaze. “It’s not dumb, Luna. You wanna feel full, and you know I wanna go slow. So you asked for something else.”
I intake a deep breath. “So will you?”
He contemplates, glancing over at the stick against the wall. Then back to me, he says, “No offense to the pool cue, but it’s not going in you before me.”
I deflate. “When will that be?”
His brows pinch in thought, and he tries to give me a reassuring smile—but something seems to be wrestling inside Donnelly that I can’t see or understand.
It’s making this whole thing more painful.
“I’m trying to be patient,” I whisper to him, “but I’m starting to feel like…” My eyes sear as tears threaten to surge. Never mind. I hop off the table and find the baggy AC/DC tee.
“Luna.” He catapults off the pool table much faster, and he catches up to me as I pull the shirt on. “Can you talk to me?” His distress mirrors mine.
“I don’t want to pressure you. I’m not trying to pressure you.” I scrounge around the feet of the table for my sweatpants, finding them in a heap. I step into them while he’s skating both hands through his hair, leaving them on his head like he’s winded.
“Luna…” He drops his hands.
“It’s fine.” My voice shakes.
“It’s not fine. This isn’t fine.” He’s sweeping me for cracks. “I just don’t fucking understand.” He’s confused and alarmed.
I’m frustrated and hurt. “I know you said…you said you’re not waiting for my memories to come back, but it feels like you are.” Tears prick my eyes, and I wipe at them to stop the waterworks, but it wets my hands. “You’re waiting for when I’m whole and okay and for when you know you won’t hurt me because this version of me is too broken—”
“No, Luna—” He’s cut off as the doorknob jostles, then there’s a knock and muffled voices outside.
Our roommates.
“They must be in here,” Thatcher or Banks says. Their voices are too alike for me to differentiate.
“Luna!” Jane calls out. “We have a marvelous plan to play poker! There may or may not be amendments to the rules! You and Donnelly should join!”
“Losers have to wash dishes the whole fucking week!” Sulli chimes in. “It’ll be fun!!”
My throat is too swollen to respond.
Donnelly hasn’t looked away from me. “Game room’s occupied!”
“They’re fucking,” a Moretti brother concludes, loud enough for us to hear.
We aren’t. It’s an added layer of angst into an angsty, messy situation.
“Donnelly would’ve led with that,” Akara says from outside the door.
“Not if Luna wouldn’t want us to know,” Jane notes.
“What if they’re not doing okay?” Sulli asks. “When’s the last time you’ve seen them?”
A fist pounds harder. “Hey, open up!” Akara shouts, concerned.
Donnelly strides over to the door, unlatches the lock, and cracks it open, but before he can even articulate a truth, Thatcher, Banks, and Akara spill into the game room with a couple six-packs of beer. The cute part, which almost distracts me, is Baby Maeve in a Valentine’s heart swaddle. She’s content in Thatcher’s burly arms.
My cousins are in tow, but I avoid Jane and Sulli and try to make an invisible exit.
“Luna?” Jane must see my hurt in my mad dash.
I’ve tried to be better—to be more open with the people I love this time around—but I can’t be this ripped apart in front of my roommates. I don’t like this feeling, and there’s only one person I really want around me right now.
I aim for the door.
“Is everything okay?” Akara asks Donnelly. “…is she?”
Donnelly is only watching me.
Air. I need air.
“Luna,” Donnelly calls softly as I squeeze between him and the exit. He doesn’t grab me. He doesn’t stop me.
And thank God, he doesn’t let me go alone.
52
PAUL DONNELLY
I don’t know if she needs space, but I’m too afraid to give it to her right now—like if I don’t fix this in this second, I might cause more damage.
We’re on the penthouse rooftop. Steam rises off the pool, but she’s made her way to the brick ledge that faces Philly in all her nighttime beauty. A thin orange haze paints the skyline, like the sun just dropped behind the world moments ago.