Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
And boy … do I know him too.
I still get sweaty thinking about how he had his hands all up in my skirt until I almost wanted him to fuck me. And all that from a bit of fondling. What is wrong with me?
I shouldn’t be thinking about him at all with the stunts he pulled, yet I am, and I can’t fucking stop thinking about how good his lips tasted and how I wished he’d kissed me again in the bathroom.
“Monica?” my therapist suddenly pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you want to talk about him? If you feel comfortable.”
I shake my head. No. Not at all.
“That’s fine,” she says. “You know you can always come and talk with me when you want, right?”
I nod. “I know, but I’m too confused about my own feelings.”
“That’s understandable,” she replies in her typical therapist manner. “The first time after something so huge can often feel strange or confusing.”
“Right,” I say. “But the confusing part is that it doesn’t feel strange at all.”
She cocks her head and leans in. “How so?”
“It just feels … good.” I mull it over for a second. “But at the same time, it also doesn’t feel good.”
“So you’re conflicted,” she says.
“I can’t really explain it. Like, I know he’s bad for me, and that I shouldn’t get close, or feel any of this, but—”
“But … your feelings are valid. And you’re allowed to feel things, even if you think they’re wrong.”
“But what do I do if the boy is wrong?”
“Is he?” She raises a brow.
“I’ve been told he is … and … well … he’s been kind of …”
“Kind of what?”
My whole face turns red, and I struggle to even say a word at this point.
All I can think about are his wet lips against my skin, his fingers on my thigh.
Fuck.
“I can’t do this,” I say as I get up. “Can we continue this another time?”
I should leave now before I say or do something I regret.
“Sure. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. And if you prefer, you can always confide in your friends.” She gets up too. “You know I’m always available when you need me.”
“Thanks,” I say as I hurry out the door.
“Call me when you want another appointment,” she adds, right as it shuts.
But I don’t know if I want to do that anymore.
I should.
I definitely should.
But with Cole tempting me so much, this little devil inside my heart doesn’t want to be constrained by my past anymore. It wants to come back out and play.
As I walk out of the building, I get a text from Mel.
Mel: Bonfire party tonight up at Devil’s Bluff Lake in the mountains. Wanna come?
Mo: I’m game
Mel: Cool, pick u up at ur place at 9
Mo: Awesome
I don’t even think about it before I hit send.
I’m so tired of being that girl, that meek girl who’s got issues, that tentative girl with the past. No more of that. I want to enjoy my teenage years before they’re over, and I’m not letting any boy get in the way of that.
Cole
Being at home is one of the worst places I could ever be. But since the boys wanted a free day without band practice, I’m all by myself today. School’s closed, and there’s nowhere else I can study, so I’m stuck here in this huge, expensive mansion.
Not the worst place to be, but the best? Far from it.
When I was a little kid, I thought my parents were cool because they were rich, but I know better now. Not all money is money to be proud of.
I grab a Coke from the fridge to prepare for studying, but on my way to the stairs, my eyes land on my dad and his partners having a heated discussion about funds and packages. One of them slams his hand on the table, and my dad stands up, enraged.
On the table is a whole stack of money, being counted by my mother. But the moment she sees me stare, she stops and immediately gets up.
“Cole? What are you doing?” she asks.
My dad turns toward me, the thunderous look on his face as he realizes I’ve caught him in the act of a deal makes me tense up, expecting a fight.
But then my mother closes the doors, shutting us both off.
“You know you’re not supposed to look,” Mom says. “Why are you even here? I thought you’d be with your friends.”
“They’re busy. I thought I could study here,” I reply, completely flabbergasted. “What are you doing? Are you really counting money in our home?”
“It’s none of your business how we do ours,” she says.
“Yeah, it is. I’m your son. I know what you’re doing. I know how you make money, and I know it’s against the fucking law.”