Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“Is Rix home?”
I shake my head. “She’s at Tristan’s. Probably getting railed one last time.” I cringe, because what the hell? “Sorry. I didn’t need to say that last part. It’s sort of a given.”
He nods, eyes moving around the apartment. His gaze stops on the couch. My bra is hanging over the arm. “Do you want to grab a hoodie or something?”
I cross my arms over my chest to hide my nipples, which are stupidly happy to see Hollis. “I’m fine.”
I’m not even remotely fine. It’s become glaringly obvious, at least to me, that I have a lot of feelings about Hollis. They are real and inconvenient and a giant pain in my ass. The worst part is how fixated I’ve been on that phrase he uttered about if things were different and his admission that he can’t stop dreaming about me. In my head, I’ve turned us into a thing. A couple. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Husband and wife, even. It’s embarrassing.
His jaw tics. “Is that what you wore to school today?”
I frown. “Yeah. Why?” I’m wearing a cropped T-shirt, baggy jeans, and until I walked through the door, a bra. I also layered a hoodie over the top, plus a jacket and toque and scarf because it’s winter, and I hate being frozen.
His nostrils flare. “It’s February. You could get frostbite.”
“What are you? Eighty years old? I’m in my apartment. Half of my classes feel like a trip to the Sahara and the other half feel like the inside of a freezer, so I layer accordingly—not that it’s any of your business what I wear and where I wear it, Daddy Hollis.” I’m enraged that the first thing he did was pull some kind of dad-style judgment card and make me feel like a little fucking girl. Which I am not. I’m a woman, and I won’t be treated otherwise.
A thrill shoots down my spine at the way his eyes darken and his lip curls.
“You’re a real button-pusher these days,” he grumbles.
“What does that even mean?” He’s the one passing judgment on my damn outfit. Like he has a right.
“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”
“Why do you think that?” Oh yeah, I’m diving headfirst into Denial River.
“Because you’ve missed dinner the last two nights.”
Which means he’s been at my dad’s if he knows this. “I’ve been busy.” Avoiding you.
“You never miss dinners with your dad before an away series,” he points out.
I’m building walls as fast as I can, trying to keep my truth from spilling out. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”
He flips his keyring around his finger. “We need to talk about the kitty cams.”
“What about them?” Every time I think about them, I get a little sweaty.
“Are you okay with them, or do you want me to turn them off? Because I will. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at all.”
“They’re fine.”
“Are you sure? I feel bad that I forgot to mention them last time.”
“I know now. And you don’t need my permission to keep tabs on your pets.” Although I guess now he can also keep tabs on me. That sends a little buzz up my spine.
“That’s not—” He sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, and I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me.”
“There’s nothing going on.” I hug myself tightly, as though it will keep the ache from building in my chest. It doesn’t work.
“Liar,” he fires back.
Being around him is like staring at my favorite cake through an unbreakable glass case. I miss talking to him and hanging out like we used to. I want him more than I realized. But I can’t have him. And Scarlet already has. And she wants him back. I can’t admit any of those things, though. I’d never survive the humiliation. “I’m not.”
“You are.” He paces the length of the kitchen before stopping in front of me. “Is this about Scarlet?”
“She seems pretty interested in shooting her shot again with the whole ‘he’s the one who got away’ comment.” I didn’t mean to say that aloud.
He stops pacing and turns to face me. I can’t look at him, though. Can’t see his expression because I’m afraid of how transparent I am.
“There’s nothing going on with me and Scarlet,” he says softly.
It’s exactly what I want to hear, but his reason for saying it isn’t what I want. I will my eyes to stay fixed on his polished black shoes, but they lift, drinking in the sight of him. He’s wearing the tie I gave him last year for his birthday. That’s our thing—I always get him a tie for his birthday, and he always gets me silly socks. This tie is both ridiculous and totally him. It features banana duck, who is also wearing a tie. Stupid seeds burst with tiny buds of hope, until my eyes reach his.