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)
I’m staring down at my sneakers.
At his shoes.
At the floor.
Anywhere but up at him.
God, I’m so embarrassed.
Even more embarrassed than when I had to tell my parents that I wasn’t going to be graduating after all. They’ve had two years of getting used to my low grades. While they were super surprised when I got arrested, this time around they almost expected it to happen.
They expected me to screw up.
He, on the other hand, still somehow thinks that I’m the same girl that I was before my sixteenth birthday.
Smart and intelligent and level-headed.
I’m not.
I’m stupid and heartbroken and desperate enough to climb over brick walls to stalk my ex-boyfriend.
“And NYU,” he murmurs.
I look up. “What about it?”
His features are blank but his body is still tense. “You still going to it?”
Again, I know he knew that. Lucas talked about it often. Mostly to discourage me.
But I didn’t know that he’d filed that information away to bring it up now.
I shake my head, my cheeks still burning with embarrassment. “They don’t accept people who don’t graduate on time.” Then I can’t help but add, “And even if they did, they sure as hell don’t give out scholarships to them. Which is the only way I could go. Maybe next year though, I don’t know. Once I have enough credits to transfer or something.”
Before everything happened, my path was forged.
Or at least, it was in my mind.
I knew I’d be able to get a scholarship. My grades were excellent. My extra-curriculars were excellent too. All my teachers loved me. They knew I was going places. The only problem was Lucas’s reluctance and expectation that I’d follow him wherever he went.
I thought when the time came, I’d deal with it.
But it never came.
And now here we are.
Shut up in this bathroom, while a party rages on beyond the door. And my ex-boyfriend is probably still making out with those two girls.
Which reminds me that this isn’t important, this conversation.
How did we even get here?
We have more important things to worry about.
I have more important things to worry about.
“None of this is important, okay?” I tell Reign, who’s staring at me like he’ll never stop, mysterious emotions flickering in his eyes, all tense and brittle. “It’s not important that I’m still at St. Mary’s and I’m not going to NYU anymore. What’s important is Lucas is spiraling. He can’t go on like this. He can’t keep doing what he’s doing. Not to mention, your friendship. It’s all broken now. Don’t you want your best friend back? Maybe I can help and —”
“You still love him?”
His words are murmured but they’re enough to put a stop to my own.
And I whisper, “Yes. I never stopped.”
“Even after what you saw,” he goes on.
“He…” I fist my hands, my heart racing painfully in my chest. “He saw me too.”
With you.
This time, when his jaw tics, the bruise on the side of his mouth pulses as well.
And despite knowing better — so, so much better — my eyes fall to his lips and a breath escapes me.
A heated breath.
A breath that somehow smells like watermelons and lemonade.
In fact the very air smells of watermelons and lemonade. My tongue comes alive with the taste of them.
The taste of his kiss…
God, please. Not now.
Not when he’s right here.
When Lucas is here too, only a short distance away.
I look away from his mouth then, shuddering.
I notice him shuddering too, his chest moving on a wave.
And I think I catch the tail end of his gaze moving away from my mouth as well. But I may be imagining things because his features are still tight and blank and I continue, “Lucas is the love of my life. Nothing will change that. Not the fact that I made a mistake, two very big mistakes, that night. Or that he’s lashing out because of them. I will always love him.”
“Always, huh,” he murmurs.
I nod. “It’s like you and me.”
“What’s like you and me?”
“This. My love for Lucas.” I take in a deep breath. “I will always love him like I will always hate you.”
Always. Always. Always.
I let that word chant in my head as I stare up at him.
Into his reddish-brown eyes. His now spiky hair. That bruised jaw.
And he stares down at me, at my flushed cheeks and my spilled hair. As if absorbing what I just said. My words. My hatred for him.
Then, stepping back from me, he goes, “Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“You wanna talk to him. I’ll make sure you get to.”
“Y-you will?”
“I’ll make sure that he’s in a position to listen to you.”
“I… You… How? I don’t —”
“And then we fix it.”
“We?”
“You and I.”
“Y-you and I?”
He throws out a short nod, something flashing through his features. A thoughtful look but also something else. “We need to put you back where you belong.”
“I’m sorry?”
“With him.”