Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
He’s just too kind to see it.
“Fuck, Taylor. I’m sorry.”
Speak of the well-meaning devil. My head lifts as Conor shoves past the men stumbling toward the restroom and comes to a stop in front of me.
There’s real panic in his eyes. Whether it’s due to me or whoever that guy was back there, I don’t know. And I’m too tired to care. I’m all out of fight. None of this is his fault, but I just can’t pretend anymore.
“I want to go,” I tell him frankly.
He hangs his head. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get us a ride back to the hotel.”
It’s a quiet trip. With every minute I feel the gulf between us widening, feel myself shutting down.
My mistake was letting myself believe I didn’t care—about him, and the fact that our silly arrangement was always going to be temporary. I don’t know how sticking it to Abigail turned into me following him six hours to Buffalo, but it’s my fault that I let it happen. My mom didn’t raise me on fairy tales and I was stupid for falling for my own ill-conceived ruse.
“I’m sorry,” Conor says again when we reach my hotel room. His expression reflects my own loss for words. He doesn’t have to say it—we both know this whole thing blew up in our faces exactly the way it was always meant to. “Can I come in?”
I should say no and spare myself the torment of an extended “it was nice knowing you.” I’m weak, though. Reluctant to lose the friendship we’d only just repaired, and disappointed that I wasn’t brave enough to stand up to Abigail that very first night. If I had been, I would’ve saved myself the heartache and humiliation now.
“Yeah,” I murmur, unlocking the door. “Sure.”
Inside, I kick off my new heels, grab a six-dollar bottle of water from the mini bar and start chugging. When I turn around, Conor’s on the queen-sized bed, pillows arranged to form a barrier beside him.
A smile almost springs free as I remember how I did the same thing the night we met, arranging Rachel’s stuffed animal collection on the bed between us.
“Will you sit with me?” His tone is rough, lacking its usual laidback inflection.
I nod. Only because my feet hurt and I’m too self-conscious standing there on display for him.
“You’re upset,” he begins. “And I know why.”
I stretch out on the other side of the pillow wall, my short dress riding up to reveal way too much thigh. I feel sweaty and tired and I’m sure my hair is a wild mess of tangled waves. So how is it that Conor still looks fresh as a stupid daisy in a charcoal button-down over a black T-shirt and dark jeans?
“That guy back there is a total idiot, and you shouldn’t waste a second worrying about the dumb shit that comes out of his mouth,” Conor says. “It wouldn’t have mattered who was standing next to me, trust me. Kai would’ve found a way to insult them. He picked on you because he knew it would get a rise out of me.” I hear him sigh. “That’s not fair to you. It’s fucking mean and I’m sorry it happened, but please don’t let this ruin your weekend.”
“He hit on the one nerve,” I find myself whispering.
“I know, babe. And if you knew him like I do, you would’ve stabbed him in the nuts with one of those heels and gone on about your life without a second thought.”
“Shit.” I breathe out a sad laugh. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you have tact.”
I give him a sideways look.
“Most of the time,” he says with a smirk. “My point is, forget about what that asshole said. You look amazing tonight.”
“You always say that.”
“It’s always true.”
A blush rises to my cheeks. I hate how easy it is for him to do that, to get a physical response out of me.
I take one of the pillows from the barrier and hug it to my chest. “Who is he to you, anyway? A friend from California, I take it?”
Conor’s head falls back against the headboard as he lets out another long sigh. I wait, watching the story play out across his face, as if he’s deciding how much to tell me.
“Kai was my best friend growing up,” he finally reveals. “Back in my old neighborhood. We’d skateboard together, surf, smoke weed, whatever. When my mom got married and we moved to Huntington Beach, I’d still see him now and then, meet up to surf, but it’s hard when you’re not attending the same school anymore, you know? So we drifted apart. By college, I’d stopped returning his texts and that was pretty much it.”
I don’t know Conor well, certainly not well enough to have any read on his relationship with Kai. But I think I’ve spent enough time with him recently to know when he’s holding something back. There’s a wound there, something deep. Whatever it is, it’s a step too far to let me see it.