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)
“What happened?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“Tonight,” she clarifies. “You took the money and left me at your house. Then what?” Taylor crosses her arms, watching me.
It’s difficult to completely make out her expression, because it’s dark in her apartment. She turned on the hall light when we walked in, but not the lamp in the living room. It’s almost like we were both afraid to look at ourselves we needed to retreat into the shadows.
Orange lines cut across her tight black dress from the streetlights prying through the blinds. I concentrate on these lines while I lay it out for her. How I turned into a shivering sack of nerves on the side of the road, how I broke the news to Kai and took the money back to Hunter.
“And after I left Hunter’s, I called my mom,” I confess. “I had her put Max on the phone too. Which didn’t go over great considering they’re three hours behind us, so Mom thought I was in the hospital or something.”
Taylor leans against the opposite wall from me. “How’d that go?”
“I told them everything. I said I was sorry, that I’d fucked up and should have come clean a long time ago but I was afraid and ashamed. We left it at that. Mom was obviously shocked and disappointed. Max didn’t say a lot.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “There will be fallout, for sure. But for now I think they’re processing.”
I don’t mention the possibility that Max might stop paying my tuition or that Mom might yank me back to California. Hell, if Briar’s dean knew I orchestrated a B&E of my own house, I’d probably be expelled. All this pain and suffering, and there are still a dozen ways I could lose Taylor, my family, my team, and everything I’ve worked for. Which would be no less than I deserve. I wouldn’t be the first person to suffer from a malignant lack of consequences. I’m due.
“I have serious reservations about the fact that you lied for so long about something so big,” Taylor says, and there’s still an entire room between us.
“I understand.”
“And it still hurts that you were willing to put me through so much pain to cover for your mistake.”
“You’re right.”
“But I believe in partial credit.” She approaches me, slow, tentative.
She’s a fucking vision in that curve-hugging dress, her sultry makeup, blonde hair perfectly done. It breaks my heart she went through so much trouble for tonight, and I robbed her of possibilities.
“You made a dozen wrong choices to get here. But you eventually made the right one. That counts for something.”
“So where does that leave me?” I ask, growing more nervous for the answer.
“I’d say a solid C minus.”
“So…” A hopeful smirk pulls at my mouth, and I smother that shit real quick. “Still passing?”
Taylor holds up her thumb and index finger to show me the thin slice of light between them.
“I’ll take it.”
She finally reaches me, sliding her hands down the satin lapels of my tuxedo jacket. “You seemed a little jealous back there at the gala.”
“I will break that dude’s hand if he touched you,” I tell her with no hesitation.
“We were broken up,” she reminds me. Every time those words leave her lips, it cuts a little deeper.
“I’m a dickhead,” I admit. “But he’s suicidal if he thought he’d try to hit that.”
She cracks a smile, which melts the tension that’s been coiled in my shoulders for days. If I can still make her laugh, maybe there’s hope for us yet.
Pensive, she tips her head slightly. “It was kind of hot.”
“Was it?” This is sounding less like a rejection.
“Oh, for sure. I’m not one of those super-mature people who thinks jealousy is a character flaw. I fucking eat that shit up.”
My grin springs free. “I’ll remember that.”
“Yeah, you know, Abigail’s boyfriend is constantly drooling over my tits, so if later you want to do donuts on his frat’s lawn, I’m all about that petty life.”
“Fuck, I love you.” This girl makes me laugh like no one else, even when things are heavy. And especially when they’re awkward. She finds the joy in the deepest suck.
“About that,” she starts, toying with the buttons on my shirt. Hesitation creases her forehead for a moment.
“I mean it. With all my heart. I wouldn’t fuck with someone like that.”
“You love me.”
I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement, but I treat it like the former. “I love you, T. I don’t even know when I figured it out. Maybe when I pulled the car over, or on the drive back. Or when my fingers were shaking so much I could barely tie this stupid bow tie. All I could think about was getting to you and how every minute you were out there thinking I didn’t give a shit was fucking killing me. I just knew.”