Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
He barked a sardonic laugh that curled through my bloodstream like a spider web and sat down across from me, grin half-cocked and eyes trained on mine.
“What do you want, Elis?” I finally asked, exasperated with the game of cat and mouse we’d been playing. Everything about him pulled me in and made me resentful of his presence at the same time.
“Can’t a guy just say hi to an old friend?”
“Is that what we are? Friends?” I asked, zeroing my eyes in on him.
“Maybe not,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “But I want to be.”
“Elis, please stop messing with me. I’ve had a hard couple of weeks.”
“Well, I’ve had a hard couple of years,” he spat, his voice low and laced with anger.
I lowered my head to avoid his face. I knew what my mother had done and how it had impacted his family.
It’d also impacted mine.
After it happened, my parents lived as nothing more than roommates. If they could avoid each other, they did. My father had threatened divorce, which—thanks to their prenup—would have left my mother penniless. She’d begged me to talk to him, to convince him not to go through with it. Her eyes had been wild and flowing with tears. I hadn’t wanted to help her. I’d wanted her to suffer like my father and I had suffered. But at the end of the day, she was my mother, so I’d convinced my father to stay with her—something I now regretted.
“Elis, none of that was my fault.”
“No. It was your mother’s.” Cold disdain laced his words as he shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. Time heals all wounds and all that crap,” he said nonchalantly. “Listen, Princess. I don’t want to feel the way I do. From the moment I saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I thought I was over you, but I’m not. I don’t think I ever will be.”
His words floored me. I stared at him silently. The words caught somewhere deep inside me, desperate to get out but unable to unbind themselves from the bonds holding them in place.
“So what do you want?” I finally squeaked.
“I told you. I want to be friends.”
“Elis, you and I can never be friends.”
“Probably not.” He leaned over, his face so close to mine. “Because every time I look at you, Princess, I want to bend you over and fuck the life out of you.”
I grew warm everywhere under his hard gaze, and I was sure a flush was now plastered on my face.
“I missed how red you get when you’re horny,” he whispered so low that I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.
“Pardon?” I stuttered.
“You, Devlynn Price, are horny.” He said it slowly, enunciating every word so it would be hard for anyone to miss.
I got up quickly, and the chair I was sitting in fell back on the floor, causing all the eyes in the room to land on me.
Elis laughed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring at me intently. I didn’t know what to say because his words were true, and I hated that they were.
Instead, I silently grabbed my bag, gave Elis one last look, and stormed out.
Chapter 9
Elis
“Eighteen: the kitchen. Nineteen: the dining room. Twenty and twenty-one: the living room. Twenty-two: master suite.” I hummed the words as my eyes traveled the dark iron bars of the balconies spanning the top floor of the building.
I hadn’t seen Devlynn in the few days since she’d stormed out of the coffee shop. I hadn’t meant to elicit that reaction, but I did love rattling the fuck out of her at every opportunity.
My eyes once again followed the line of windows on the top-floor apartment.
I wondered if she’d ever let another guy into her home like she had me. The notion sent a bolt of rage through me.
“Where are you, Devlynn Price?”
I hated that I kept finding myself here—with her or waiting for her. I’d grown accustomed to her schedule: a run first thing in the morning—rain or sun. A coffee from the bakery on the corner on the way home. It wasn’t that I was stalking her. It was simpler than that. I just kept…gravitating here.
I groaned when I reached the corner of 5th Avenue, my eyes on the Tiffany wall now wearing a fresh coat of white paint. I remembered the look on my mother’s face when Dad had presented her with a Tiffany blue box every year for her birthday. In the later years, the gifts grew bigger, glitzier, more ostentatious, and my mother loved them. I should have known then he was up to no good, asking for silent forgiveness with every diamond-encrusted gift.
The doorman of Devlynn’s building opened the door on a cab, and my girl stepped out.