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)
Don’t say it.
Just give him what he wants. Say thank you so you can get back.
“No.”
Damn it, Echo.
“And why’s that?”
“Because it’s you.”
“And?”
“And you never give anyone compliments.”
His lips twitch as if on the verge of a smile. Which I already know can’t be the case.
Not with him.
If anything, his lips are going to be on the verge of a smirk.
Arrogant, condescending, I’m-too-cool-for-this-world smirk.
“I’m pretty sure I do.”
“Well okay, so let me rephrase,” I say. “You never give compliments to me.”
And there it is: his smirk.
All dark and in its glory.
“Ah,” he drawls again, nodding as if reaching a conclusion of some sort. “I hear hurt feelings.”
“There are no —”
“Well, allow me to rectify that.”
“You don’t —”
“You look pretty in blue,” a pause, “Echo.”
Happy birthday, Echo.
Echo…
He said that. That night, I mean.
In fact, he said it right before.
The thing that ruined my life. The kiss.
I realize that except for my name, his words just now are completely different from before.
But somehow it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t fucking matter.
Because the things that happen inside of me, the tidal wave of feelings that emerge, are exactly the same.
I combust. I go up in flames. I die.
I fly.
Like I did that night.
And this is not good. This is very, very bad.
I want this déjà vu feeling to go away. I want him to go away.
Why won’t he just go away?
“What do you want, Reign? Why are you here?”
Now it’s his turn to clench his teeth, his jaw. Narrow his eyes slightly.
As if me calling his name affects him the same way, as if it makes him sick as well.
If it does, then I’m glad.
I hope he’s sick to his stomach like I am right now.
To my dismay though, he recovers quickly and his features go all relaxed and nonchalant as he says, “To say hi. I mean, how long has it been, huh? Since we saw each other.”
“Two years.” Then, I add, “Not long enough though.”
He chuckles. “And you were sitting out there, surrounded by all your friends. We didn’t get a chance to talk, let alone catch up.”
“If I wanted to talk to you, I would have.”
“Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?” he says, shaking his head slightly. “I give you a compliment and you break my heart.”
“You don’t have a heart.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. You’re heartless.”
At my words, he takes one hand out of his pocket and puts it on his chest. On the left side of it.
He splays his fingers wide and with sparkling eyes, he says, “Well, whatever it is, it’s racing right now.”
I swallow at his gesture.
Because yet another memory from a night long ago, longer than two years, teases my mind. When he did something exactly like this, clutching the left side of his chest. But I’m happy to report that I shut it down before I drown in it.
Instead I distract myself with his large, dusky hand on his sculpted chest.
The chest that looks even broader and thicker than before. And his tanned fingers that look even more summery. Probably from all the soccer playing. Running around the field, kicking the ball, under the sun.
I haven’t heard much about his career or even Lucas’s career for that matter, because I don’t live at the manor anymore. So I’m cut off from all the gossip and rumors. But I’m sure they’re both doing great. I’m sure they’re both killing it over there with their skills and talent.
“I hope it’s racing fast enough for a heart attack,” I retort.
He chuckles again. “I wouldn’t rule it out, no. Especially since I’m seeing you after so long.”
“Are you —”
“Because I wasn’t lying, Echo. You are pretty.” Then in a grave voice, “You’re fucking breathtaking.”
My heart practically punches my chest then.
It practically digs a hole through my bones, trying to burst out of my body.
Knowing him, that would be his goal. Snatching my heart right out of my chest and leaving me here to die.
And I’m proven right — God, so so right — when in a flash, he appears in front of me. One second, he was leaning against the opposite wall and the next, he’s standing right in front of me with hardly any gap between our bodies.
“Get away from me,” I somehow manage to say.
It’s difficult though. So very difficult.
Not only because my déjà vu isn’t going anywhere but also because the very thing that I was hoping to avoid is right in front of me now.
Him.
His face. His body.
And how it’s all changed.
How there are subtle and not-so-subtle differences.
How there are a couple of lines around his eyes that weren’t there before. A tiny mark slashing through his right eyebrow that makes me think that it’s a result of an injury, something he got in the last two years because that mark wasn’t there when I knew him.
A bump on his nose. No, wait, two bumps.