Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“There is?”
Lane sits upright and stares at me with his sexy lips parted. “This is genuine flirting for you? Is this like a daddy issues thing where you don’t care what kind of attention you get, so long as you get it? Negative reinforcement and all that?”
I sit up too. “Wait, are you saying there are forms of positive reinforcement? What’s that like?”
His gaze narrows. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”
I try to keep a straight face as long as I can, but I break. “I’m not. Well, not really. And I don’t have any daddy issues, thanks. My dad is awesome.”
“Yet, he somehow managed to raise you to be … you.”
“You say that like it’s an insult. I’m awesome too. So is my mom, actually. We’re the picture-perfect image of an all-American family. Dad was military. Mom was a stay-at-home parent. We moved around a lot, but for a military guy, Dad didn’t even blink an eye when I told him I was gay. All he did was tell me not to join the army. Still too homophobic for his liking.”
“So you went into sports instead because that’s such a better industry?”
I grin. “I don’t like being told what to do. It’s just lucky for Pops that I love hockey more than guns, or I would’ve followed in his footsteps to prove I could do it.”
“No daddy issues my ass,” Lane mumbles. “There has to be more to you than a penchant for trouble and great hockey skills.”
“I’m also a smart-ass and full of shit. I’m, like, the perfect package.”
“Who hurt you?”
I frown. “Huh?”
“If it’s not a terrible upbringing that makes you wear that mask of arrogance, then what is it? Someone hurt you? First love broke your heart?”
I can’t speak. Not because he hit the nail on the head, which he didn’t, but because it’s more like the complete opposite. There hasn’t been anyone willing to look past the surface long enough for me to get hurt. Or fall in love. No one has cared to be deep with me, and after a while, it’s easy to become shallow and go with the flow.
It wasn’t someone who hurt me; it was everyone.
I try to continue to wear that attitude, but it’s like in a horror movie when the protagonist removes the killer’s mask and sees the real person behind it all. It takes away their power, and I’ve never had anyone do that with me before. No one has ever cared to look deeper. I both like and despise it in equal measure.
“Ah. I’ve worked out how to make you silent.” Lane smiles. “There’s some ammunition I can use later. Poor Oskar Voyjik and his crushed heart. What happened? He cheat on you, so you decide to fuck everyone else? Bad breakup?”
I fist my hand in the sheet because I don’t want to let him see how much he’s getting to me, even though he has it all wrong. “No broken heart here. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Sure as hell haven’t been in love.”
“Then what does your attitude protect you from?” Lane’s tone has lost the teasing edge and has been replaced with something softer. Serious. Too serious.
“Yeah, we’re not doing this.” I lie back down, determined to get my body to listen and go to sleep, but now I’m too keyed up and … icky. That same gross feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had all through high school swarms my gut. Every new school, every new face … I was always the shiny new toy. People obsessed over my looks, which made it hard to make friends because guys were generally jealous and girls wanted more than friendship. And when the novelty of someone new wore off and they all realized I was a boring guy who loved hockey and video games more than socializing and being the center of attention, they’d all drift away, and then I’d be alone. Until we moved and it started all over again. Eventually, I learned that if I acted out, people stayed interested.
“Struck a nerve?”
“Nope. Ignoring it. Getting into emotional baggage with other people isn’t worth it.”
“Why’s that?”
Because it all sounds so petty. I don’t say that though.
I hear Lane shuffle around, and when I glance over at him, he’s on the edge of his bed, leaning toward me. “Oskar, if there’s something that can help your situation, you should tell me.”
“Telling you won’t help. At all. In fact, telling you the real reason I don’t get close to people will just make you laugh your ass off because it’s ridiculous and shallow, and you’ll think, ‘Oh, no. Poor beautiful person is too beautiful.’”
As expected, Lane rolls his eyes. “And you’re back to being a douche. That split second of vulnerability I saw gave me false hope.”