Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
And then I flick my eyes up and up and realize that I was right.
Out there I mean.
People could study his body for science.
Even bruised and black and blue, he looks… epic.
He looks so cut and sleek and strong and, wait…
There’s a tattoo.
On his chest. Left side of it.
Numbers.
Random-looking. That I can’t make heads or tails of. But I know that these neat-looking digits weren’t there before. Not when he still lived at the manor.
“I think you do,” he murmurs.
My eyes fly up, horrified. “I-I do what?”
“Want something to do with me,” he reminds me of our conversation before I got so thoroughly distracted.
I resume pushing him away. “I don’t. I —”
“I think,” he rasps, staying put despite my efforts, “that you have a thing for me.”
“What?” I shriek almost.
“And I have a thing for you too.”
I freeze then.
I totally absolutely freeze.
My nails stop where they are, lodged into his skin, mashing over the vein on the side of his neck. My eyes stay locked with his. My spine stays bowed and my lips stay parted, gasping breaths.
His smirk is gone now.
So is his cocky, arrogant look.
Instead, his features are all intense. His eyes are liquid.
The bruises on his face make him look both dangerous and fragile.
Like he’s capable of crushing me, but I’m capable of crushing him too.
“What?” I whisper.
He takes my face in with his molten eyes. “I kissed you back, didn’t I? Why did you think I did that?”
“I don’t… I didn’t…”
Think.
I didn’t think why. Not for him and not for me.
I’ve pushed it down, pushed it aside, the kiss.
Because there’s nothing to think about anyway.
He’s my ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend.
And I’m his ex-best friend’s ex-girlfriend.
But before I can tell him that, he goes, “I did that. Because I wanted to. Because I have a thing. For you.”
“B-but that’s…”
“A very big thing.”
“You’re lying.”
He’s lying.
Isn’t he?
He has to be.
It doesn’t make sense. It’s bizarre. It’s absurd.
It’s like his protecting thing from a few days ago.
Except this is even more of a fiction than him trying to protect me.
Me.
The servant girl.
It doesn’t…
“I wish.”
“You…” I can barely think, let alone make words. “You were always so…”
“Horrible to you.”
“Yes.” Then, to prove my point, I repeat, “Yes!”
Horrible. Awful. Hateful.
His lips turn up in a small, sad smile. “Part of my charm. And partly a consequence of wanting your best friend’s girl when you shouldn’t.”
My whole body winces.
My muscles spasm. My heart spasms.
As I look into his eyes, shocked, disbelieving, so confused. “I don’t… I don’t understand this.”
Things flicker in his eyes, great big waves of emotions. “Neither do I.”
“Since when?”
“That first night.”
The first…
“The… The night of the f-firecrackers?”
“Yeah.”
I barely remember that night.
I barely remember anything except one thing.
One blaring thing.
“But that was…” I lick my rapidly drying lips. “That was before Lucas.”
“I know.”
“You l-liked me before Lucas.”
“I did.”
I take a few moments to gather myself. I would’ve liked more though. I would’ve liked hours and days and probably weeks to pull myself together.
But I don’t have that kind of time.
I want to know.
I want to know everything.
“If you liked me before… Lucas, then why didn’t you… Y-you never said anything. You never…” And then I just go back to repeating everything because it doesn’t make sense to me. “You were so horrible to me. I thought you hated me. I thought you hated me with him. I thought…”
Oh God, he didn’t.
He didn’t hate me with his best friend. Or rather not for the reasons I always thought.
I think he hated me with him because he… had a thing for me.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He can see it.
On my face.
That I’m finally getting it. I’m finally comprehending what he’s telling me.
“I never said anything,” he says, his eyes grave, his features grave as well like this is the most important thing in his life, the most important truth. “Because he liked you too. Because he was my best friend. I never said anything, treated you like shit, because I wanted you to choose him.”
“C-choose him.”
“Yes. Because he was a better choice.”
My heart contracts at this.
Contracts. And constricts. Chokes.
At the pain in his voice. Frustration. Anger.
“So I just watched,” he rasps.
I squeeze him with my limbs, my chest heaving. “W-watched?”
His hands go back to stroking.
Going up and down the sides of my body, from my ribs to the base of my belly, as he rumbles, “All the time.”
And I can’t help but ask, “In school?”
“Uh-huh. At the cafeteria. The library. The soccer games. Especially the soccer games. You always came to the soccer games.”
“For Lucas,” I whisper.
“Yeah, for him,” he says, his words slightly clipped. “You’d sit right at the front with a bunch of your friends. You’d cheer for every goal he made. Every fucking pass. Every dribble. Even though you had zero interest in the game.”
He’s right.
I never took to soccer. Even though it was my boyfriend’s life.