Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I can’t breathe. “What?”
He pulls me against him, then tilts my chin with his hand. I suddenly realize he’s shaking. “Is that how I made you feel? When you came here? When we… in the bathroom, is that how I made you fucking feel?”
“I liked you.” Is the only way I can answer. It didn’t necessarily feel cheap, but it was expected. Hormones, high school seniors, new situation. But no matter how much I justify it, I realize the sad reality.
I felt like I wanted something for me, and maybe a small part of me felt like—it would be easier to get it over with.
My silence is answer enough at first, and then I shake my head. “I wanted it, I wanted you, but I’m used to… I’m used to it, maybe, I guess, I don’t know, you’re you, I’m me, I was being selfish, maybe using you as much as you were using me. When I look back, I don’t think I was thinking at all.” Tears well in my eyes. “I was scared. I was sad. And you made me feel safe.”
By the look in his eyes, you’d think I just stabbed him in the heart. He quickly glances down at the floor. Down at my toes. His shoulders slump, all bravado gone, all teasing about vegetables and cheese dead, just like the feelings he used to have for me. Just like his dad.
Gone just like his mom.
After a few seconds of silence, he breathes out a curse and still doesn’t make eye contact as he breezes past me. “Let’s go paint your toenails.”
I follow him and wonder if the cease-fire just ended itself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ambrose
I. Am. A. Piece. Of. Shit.
Like, I was aware I was a dick, but this is so much worse, I can’t even look at her—which should be normal since I’ve been purposefully ignoring the anger and hatred. Today for whatever reason, it felt easier, but now that it’s been a few hours and confessions have been made, I just feel like the biggest douche on the planet.
How could I even begin to understand the life she lived if I never asked? Is that how it was? Did she honestly think she had to use her body to gain my approval? I’m a horny guy, so yeah, I was angry I was attracted to her, the situation presented itself, she was into it, and it happened. I just never thought…
I didn’t think.
I just made a choice she felt like she partially couldn’t say no to.
All, what? Because she’s hot and I had morning wood?
The house is eerily quiet as we make it into my room. It’s clean, thanks to the maid that comes every week. The only thing out is my PlayStation center in the corner with the flat screen hanging across my bed.
I go into the adjoining master bathroom and grab a bottle of black fingernail polish and a towel.
She’s standing in the middle of my room as if she’s never been naked in it before.
Rather than sit on the bed, I just collapse to the middle of the floor and lay down the towel. “Sit.”
The last thing I need to see is her on my bedspread with all the memories of her breathy moans and candied eager kisses.
She puts her hands out in front of her almost like a shield, which kills a part of me, though I pretend it doesn’t faze me. “Oh, no, no, I can do it.”
I manage to smile despite the turmoil in my head. “One thing you’ve never heard, a secret I’ll take to my grave… I’m a really good artist. I could paint your toenails in my sleep and ace it. Sit.”
Slowly, MB moves to the floor. She’s already barefoot and in shorts long enough to cover up her perfect ass—just barely, she slumps forward with both legs facing me.
It would be like painting her toes backward, so I move her a bit and slowly pull one leg onto my lap.
She lets out a tiny gasp.
I smirk down at her toes. “It’s not like I’m planning on chopping off your foot or sucking your toes, you know.”
“That’s a very specific fetish.”
“Mmm…” I open up the nail polish. “Pretty sure people do that on OnlyFans—not that I would know.”
“Surrreeee.” She actually laughs. “You’re probably into all that weird stuff, paying people ten dollars just to reach up and change a lightbulb.”
“Pay you fifty to climb a ladder.” I joke.
A giggle escapes past her lips, making her leg move a bit, and along with it, her toes, they curl just slightly, and it’s just one more reminder.
She has adorable toes.
I’m losing my mind here.
I clear my throat at least twice before moving to her big toe. “Okay, you’re going to have to sit still.”
“Thought you were a super good artist?”