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)
At my words, he nods tightly and steps back.
As if putting himself in the background and letting Lucas be my entire focus.
Which is as it should be.
And so I begin walking toward the only thing that should matter to me, not Reign’s bruises that I’m still thinking about even though he told me not to, or how much I hate him. Or that he actually paid someone to keep an eye on Lucas so I could get to talk to him.
Like he’d promised me the other night.
Until I came here and saw it, I didn’t believe him.
I never thought he’d be able to pull it off, but he did.
In fact if you think about it, I never would’ve been able to talk to Lucas, if not for him. If not for his intervening and setting the whole thing up.
And despite our very recent tiff, I’m thankful.
This party, even though out in the open, still seems as crowded as the one last night, but I find him easily.
Like the other night, Lucas is standing in a group chatting, minus the red cup. He senses me as soon as I move into his periphery.
A jolt goes through my system when his eyes flare in recognition.
I’m not going to lie, what happened the other night makes me want to turn back. It makes me want to abandon this plan and ask Reign to take me back to St. Mary’s. Because even though I’d said — all bravely and confidently — that I can handle myself, I have a very bad feeling that I might not be able to.
But.
It’s Lucas. It’s the love of my life.
I have to do this.
So I keep marching on.
Lucas watches my approach with an expression I can’t read. And without taking his eyes off me, he leans toward one of the guys, probably to excuse himself, and begins walking toward me as well.
“Hi,” I whisper when we reach each other.
He doesn’t respond to my greeting. Simply stares at me with impassive eyes.
I swallow and fist my dress. “I… Uh, how are you?”
I want to grimace.
What a lame opener.
Lame. Lame. Lame.
We’re talking after two years and this is what I come up with.
Although if he thinks it’s weird or lame, I don’t know. I can’t tell because he’s as blank as ever as he replies, “Okay.”
“Are you,” I clear my throat, feeling all kinds of awkward, “enjoying the party?”
That gets me a reaction, or a hint of it. When his lips curl into a small smile that doesn’t look anything like his old warm and loving ones. And I realize why when he murmurs, “Not as much as the one last night.”
Right.
Because of that threesome kissing that I’d found him in.
My heart cracks right down the middle then even though I tell myself, my heart, to not. I tell myself that I don’t have the right to get sad or jealous about it.
And neither do I have the right or the luxury to turn back.
Which is what I want to do. Again.
Only the urge is much stronger now.
I fist my hands harder and try to come up with some words, any acceptable words would do right now, but he speaks first. “What are you doing here, Echo?”
“I came to see you,” I blurt out, unable to come up with anything else but the truth.
His face doesn’t betray any emotion as he murmurs, “What about The Horny Bard?”
My cheeks are burning. “That too.”
It’s okay though.
It’s okay if he knows the level of my desperation. If he knows that I’ve been stalking him.
Wanting to see him, talk to him.
Let him see my love for him.
If it fixes things, then I don’t want my dignity.
He stares at me for a few beats. Then, “What do you want?”
You.
I want you.
It’s very hard not to say that.
Very hard not to spill my guts and tell him all about my intentions.
But even though I’m okay with him knowing that I’m his stalker, I also can’t start declaring my undying love for him after two long years.
So I go with something neutral but important. “I heard about your dad. I’m sorry. I don’t… I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”
He stiffens for a moment or two.
But then recovers and shrugs. “It is what it is.”
“I know your dad…” I shake my head, frowning. “He wasn’t… good. To you. And I know this must be difficult for you to process and I wish… I… I’m just so sorry, Lucas. I’m —”
"Is that all?”
His dismissive tone throws me.
For a second or two, I can’t come up with anything else to say.
But then I take a deep breath and forge ahead. “I… I wanted to apologize.”
He stiffens again.
Way more than he did when I’d mentioned his father.
But then whose fault is that?
So for the umpteenth time tonight, I stand my ground and begin, “I know it sounds… It sounds ridiculous. So insufficient and small, me apologizing for something so big but… I’m such a lover of words, you know that, right? I’m such a big logophile. I’m always rattling off synonyms and jotting down new words in my diary, but I don’t have any other word right now except sorry. For everything that I did. You were the last person I ever wanted to hurt, and I know people say this a lot and I can’t believe I’m one of those people now but it’s the truth.