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 frown up at him. “What do you mean I’m not as fun as other St. Mary’s girls are.”
Something flashes through his eyes, a challenge I think. “It means you’re not as fun. Also known as boring, tedious, monotonous.” Then, raking his gaze over my blushing cheeks, “Colorless.”
I’m breathing heavily now. “I’m not… colorless.” Then, “And how would you know?”
“How would I know what?”
“If I am or not. How would you know anything about St. Mary’s girls?”
He lets a few moments pass before he replies, “I’ve had a few encounters, if you will.”
“What kind of encounters?”
“Hookups.”
“What?”
“Over the years.”
I twist my fingers in his t-shirt. “You’ve had hookups with a St. Mary’s girl.”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Don’t be.”
“Just tell me,” I insist. “I go to St. Mary’s. It’s my school. I have a right to know who.”
What?
It’s ridiculous, what I just said.
I have zero right to know. I don’t even know why I want to know but I do.
“Is that so?” he rasps, not buying my bullshit.
I tug on his t-shirt. “Tell me who the girl was, Reign.”
He doesn’t.
Or at least not right away. First, he takes me in.
It’s not as if he hasn’t seen me ever since he arrived. He has. We’ve been standing in front of each other all this time, looking. But for some reason this is the first time I take into account as to how I look.
What I’m wearing.
Maybe because he looks at me in the way he did my room only a few minutes ago. Slowly and as if getting reacquainted. Which is why I realize that I’m ready for bed.
My hair’s loosely braided with most of it scattered around my face. I’m wearing a light pink, off-the-shoulder sleep shirt that comes down to mid-thigh.
Just regular clothes.
But holy shit, how could I forget?
That I’m not wearing a bra.
Oh lord.
One, because I hate bras and given the size of my boobs, I always have to wear one. Always, without fail. And two, because as I said, I’m ready for bed and who wears a bra while sleeping?
And now that I remember it, my no-bra situation, I wonder if he’s noticed.
God please don’t let him have noticed.
How freaking embarrassing.
But then I’m not thinking about my no-bra situation or if he knows it because he closes that gap he’d created just now, and I move with him.
Until my spine is right where it was only seconds ago, stuck to the bedpost. Only this time I think he’s much closer because I’m still touching him, tugging on his t-shirt.
He’s close enough for me to do all the things that I never want to do.
But always can and do anyway.
Count his eyelashes. Study the red flecks in his eyes and the curve of his plump lips.
Fill my lungs with him.
I’m in the process of doing all that when he says, “Not a girl. Girls.”
I stiffen. “How many?”
He’s watching me all intensely, penetratingly and I know I should hide my feelings from him. But I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now to be able to hide it.
Except that I don’t like the sound of that. Girls.
At all.
“Well,” he goes, “there was one at this bar. She snuck in with a bunch of people, I think. She wasn’t old enough to be there. And then another one at this party. Again, I think she snuck in. Uninvited. And then, there was one that I found in the woods one night.”
“What woods?” I ask. “The ones on the estate?”
“Yeah.”
I bring my other hand up and grip his t-shirt, extremely angry now. “What was she doing on this estate?”
His words are casual but his gaze is all heavy and almost meaningful. “Taking a walk.”
“Or trespassing, more like.”
“Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.”
Of course, he didn’t.
Asshole.
“What did she look like?” I ask next.
“Dark hair. Blue eyes.”
The complete opposite of you, Echo.
What, no. I don’t care.
That’s not what this is about. That’s not why I’m asking.
Again, I’m not sure why I’m asking but that’s definitely not why.
Definitely.
“And?” I prod.
“And what?”
“What else? What else did she look like?” Then, “Please don’t tell me you didn’t notice anything else about her, except for her sparkling dark hair and magical blue eyes.”
My irritation is amusing to him. As always. “Yeah, magical’s the word.”
“I —”
“And I noticed,” he murmurs.
“And what was it that you noticed, Reign?”
“Her skin, for one.”
“What about it?”
“Creamy,” he rasps, still staring into my eyes. “Pale as fuck. Like she was made of moondust.”
Moondust.
Now that’s some word.
It’s a word that my logophile heart latches on to. It’s a word that I know I’m going to file away in the back of my mind. To think about later.
So I can hate on it properly.
So I can hate on it so much that it makes me sick.
Still, I manage to ask, “And?”
“Her lips.”
“Lips.”
“Yeah. Lickable.” He licks his own lips as if remembering hers. “Plump. Juicy like some sort of fruit.”