Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Even if just for tonight.
Shutting off the shower, I step out and grab a fresh towel, drying off. Smoke drifts through my nostrils, and I wrap the towel around my waist, walking out of the bathroom. Dallas sits on the balcony, a stream of cigarette smoke trailing up from his fingers.
I slip through the curtains and come around him, leaning back on the railing and holding out my fingers.
Pinching the butt, he holds it up to me. They’re mine anyway. He must’ve found them in my bedside table. I suck a drag, the sting in my lungs sharp. I only smoke a few a year. These have long expired.
I hand it back to him.
“What happened to Anna-Katherine?” he asks.
So that’s what we’re doing now? Having a friendly conversation?
“Let’s come to an agreement.” I blow out the smoke. “I won’t fall for you, and you don’t pretend you give a shit about anything.”
In my delusional world, he’s obsessed with me like I was with him.
In reality, I could be anyone to him.
He lowers his eyes. “I like her.”
“But you’d use her.” I plant my hands on the railing behind me, staring down at him. “Believe me, I know.”
My emotions blinded me four years ago. I know what we’re all capable of.
“I am sorry about Liv,” I state. “I know what this is and what it isn’t. I didn’t back then.”
His brow falters as if he’s fucking aggravated that I’m not confused about us anymore.
He hands me the cigarette again. “Tell my sister that.”
I arch an eyebrow. As if I’m the only one who should apologize for the past. Asshole.
I suck in air through my nose, taking another puff before handing him the cigarette back to finish. “I’m not calling off the curfew,” I tell him.
We fucked, but nothing else changes.
He takes one last drag, gazing up at me. “And you’re not getting the Bay.”
I smile, hoping he’d say that. I look forward to proving him wrong.
He snuffs out the cigarette and looks up at me, dropping his eyes down my chest and stomach.
His towel hugs his own waist, his hair still wet from his second shower tonight.
“We’ve got a couple of hours,” I say. “Can we do it again?”
His eyes lift to mine, a smile curling his lips.
Rising, he leads the way back into the bedroom, knowing things will change once the sun comes up. May as well get some use out of each other while we can.
17
Dallas
I left as soon as he fell asleep. His bed was too goddamn comfortable, and I didn’t want to face him in the daylight. I’d see him when I was dressed, in my element, and armored, not naked, in his house, and with Anna-Katherine down the hall.
I nearly called a rideshare, but it was raining and I needed to clear my head anyway. Walking to the school to get my car at 5:00 a.m., I didn’t even bother watching for the police, and even now, in my car, coasting over to the Bay, I don’t give a shit. There’s this thing in my chest that feels like water is rocking back and forth, and it feels good.
My head feels light, the exhaustion sweet.
Rain drips from my hair and from Callum’s white T-shirt, which I stole when I left. I grip the wheel harder, the hum in my fingertips persistent.
He always felt like that, didn’t he? Tight and soft, and I just wanted to graze every inch of his body with my lips.
And I already want more. His dick was tenting the sheet when I left, and I couldn’t fucking believe it. I wanted him in my mouth again.
I should’ve let him wake up to a blow job, but it’s best to keep him wanting. He hasn’t grown up that much, and if I continue to play him just right, he’ll surrender. He’ll call off the fucking curfew, and I can probably get another favor or two out of him for my family’s sake.
Propping my elbow on the door, I rake my hand through my hair.
Why did I tell him about my grave?
And about my mother?
He knows more about me than anyone.
I mean, it worked. I bared it all, and he gave in to me.
Fucking him wasn’t in the plan, though. I just saw him with Anna-Katherine last night, and I saw myself, thirteen years old and on the stairs.
Except he went to her when she cried.
He took care of her. He made the right decisions, and it made me wanna…
I shake my head. I don’t know.
I wanted him to feel good, because I know what it’s like to be facing someone who’s hurting, and I hated that feeling, too.
It’s helpless and confusing and stifling, because you’re waiting for the next explosion, living your life around a time bomb.
Why did I give a shit if he felt good?