Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“Didn’t what?”
He looks me up and down, and when his gaze falls on my left arm, some of the color drains out of his face. “Fucking hell,” he whispers.
“What?”
He snatches my clutch, which must have come unclasped as I moved down the hall and is now hanging open. I cringe inside as he pulls out Hunter’s cravat and waves it around. “Jesus, Lizzy. Hunter West?”
I nod, because I’m not sure what else to do. “What’s wrong with—”
I’m going to ask what’s so wrong with Hunter West—a rhetorical question whose answer is among the hundreds of scandalous rumors I’ve collected about Hunter over the years. But before I can finish my question, Cross turns around and slams his fist into the wall, striking it hard enough to cause a loud boom.
I grab his elbow, stunned and appalled. “Cross! What the hell is wrong with you?”
For half a second, I can feel the pent up rage seethe in him. Then he shuts it off like a light.
He gently removes my hand from him and holds my gaze, his expression carefully subdued. “Do you need a ride home, Lizzy? Do you want to talk?”
“I’m fine,” I say, and his mouth twists. That’s when I get a good look at his eyes and realize he’s pretty lit. He tugs me down the hall, back toward the green bedroom, where I hear slapping and a moan. My stomach lurches.
“Don’t think you’re the only one,” Cross says quietly. His eyes bore into mine. “Did he force you, Liz?”
“No, of course not! He didn’t.” I grab Cross’s hand and drag him back the other way, toward the empty foyer. “Call off the state of emergency. I’ve still got my V-card. Unstamped.”
“For how long?” he asks darkly, and I’ve had enough.
“I don’t care how much you’ve had to drink—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“Do you really want to be just another fuck?”
I recoil, feeling like I’ve just been slapped. It takes me a full half-second to gather my thoughts, and when I do, I’m irate. “I could never be ‘just another fuck,’ so don’t you say that shit to me. I’ll make my own choices and I don’t do a bad job, unlike some people who drink themselves stupid and sleep with any warm body that will have them.”
He works his jaw, and I know it was a low blow. He’s told me practically all his secrets since we were kids, and I know he uses sex to get affection.
“I’m just trying to be your friend, Lizzy.”
I feel steam coming out my ears. “Why were you back here?”
The look on his face tells me exactly what I had suspected: he was looking for space for his two redheads. Not for me.
“I’m not like him,” he starts.
“Right.”
I can see the hurt in his eyes. Instantly, I’m gutted.
“Cross, I’m sorry—”
But he’s out the front doors in a gust of frigid air, and I can’t take back what I’ve said. I stand there, trembling with anger and hurt.
For a few long seconds, my stomach clenches as I ask myself why Hunter? I know he’s a manwhore. I know he doesn’t ‘like’ me. He doesn’t even know me. And yet...I’ve never even had a crush on anyone but him. I realize now how messed up I must really be, and it makes me want to cry.
My chest heaves as I stare through the wavy glass panes on the ornate doors. I can hear Cross’s bike crank from somewhere in the direction of the front of the house, and despite how terrible I feel in this moment, I can’t leave without linking up with Suri, my ride.
I press my back against the wall and gulp back big, deep breaths. I refuse to cry. For the next five minutes, every time my eyes start to sting, I refuse to give in. When I finally make my way back around to the great hall, the first thing I do is scan for Hunter. He’s easy to spy, surrounded by a flock of women, missing his jacket and his tie—or rather, cravat—the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.
My body throbs, and Hunter’s gaze flickers over mine—there then gone, without conveying anything.
Then Suri is in front of me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright from wine. “Woman, where were you? Cross almost ruined his cover!”
Cross lives at my family home, in my childhood bedroom. It’s a secret. His family disowned him, and Cross doesn’t want them to know where he is. His father, Drake Carlson, the governor of California, actually said he didn’t care if Cross turned up dead. I probably wouldn’t have believed it had Cross not let me hear the voicemail.
My family has fallen off the social grid, and Mom’s in rehab and I live with Suri, so we think he’s well hidden. Just in case, Cross and I try to stay away from each other in public.