Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Thirty-seven in the past five minutes.” His smile grows. “Plus fifteen times you’ve adjusted your book and at least twenty glances at the ceiling.”
“That’s not fair. I thought you were sleeping.”
“Not quite. I can hear your thoughts, almost as if you’re saying them out loud.” He cracks one eye open, storm-gray and amused. “And of course I wouldn’t mind taking you back to my bed, spreading you out, and feasting on your …”
“Stop it right now!” My cheeks burn red hot, but the twinkle of mischief in his eye tells me he’s far from finished. “I was not thinking about what we did,” I whisper the last part as if we aren’t at a university where sex and alcohol are a part of the daily curriculum. I need to find a way to mask my expressions better.
I blink and ensure my face is clear of all emotion, but I still can’t get the thoughts out of my head. I can still feel his mouth on my skin, the way he turned the heat inside me into an inferno I haven’t been able to quench since that day.
He lifts a brow as if to say, liar, liar, but doesn’t call me out. “Fine, then I’ll answer another question I’m sure you want to ask.”
“And what’s that?”
“How I escaped The Mill?”
All I do is roll my eyes even though the mention of the Oakmount estate makes something twist in my chest. He’d shown up this morning with dark circles under his eyes and a triumphant grin, announcing he’d finally found his own apartment.
Freedom, he had called it. I was curious to know what that freedom had cost him because nothing in life was actually free. I doubt he noticed how I counted the bruises on his knuckles—four distinct marks. Did he and his father get into a fight? Or did he punch the wall? I couldn’t say that I wasn’t proud or happy for him. I’m sure it took a lot of effort and bravery to do what he did, but I was also afraid of what type of impact being on his own might have on him. Lee is social. He needs the light on him, but not so much that it suffocates him.
“The Mill is not a prison. You didn’t escape it.” I shake my head at his dramatics. “Is there a reason for the bags under your eyes? Have you not been sleeping? Maybe you should go home and sleep …” I tell him, but we both know I don’t mean it. These quiet moments in the coffee shop have become our sanctuary. Our bubble of safety where we can just be us.
“I am home.” He stretches, and the motion causes his shirt to rise, exposing a strip of muscled skin on his abdomen. I can’t help but stare. “Wherever you are, counting things and making that adorable squeaking sound with your gloves. That’s my home.”
My heart stutters. “Please don’t say things like that.”
“Why?” Lee cocks his head to the side.
“Because you should only say things like that to someone you’re in love with, who you want to be with long-term. They aren’t meant for our situation. We’re still technically fake.” I lower my voice and whisper the last word.
Lee frowns. “I don’t care what is real or fake, Salem. All I know is how I feel about you, and I won’t mask those feelings. I won’t hide them, not even for you.”
No. No. He can’t talk like this. Can’t think like this. I should’ve known having sex would complicate things, but at that moment, I was trying to be brave and normal. I wanted him, and he wanted me, but now I feel like what we did, what we shared, was a mistake. Just another obstacle I’ve put in front of us.
“I don’t want you to hide how you feel, Lee, but don’t turn this into something it’s not. That it can’t be.”
I don’t miss the tight clench of his jaw or the way his gaze flashes irritation. He wants to disagree with me, to fight back, but even he knows this can’t ever become real. Not wanting to ruin our time together, I go a different route.
“You sanitized the table three times today,” I whisper, needing to focus on facts instead of feelings. “You never used to do that. I always did it unless you got here before me.” Something pings in my brain. Am I ruining him? Forcing him into my habits even though he doesn’t need them—not the same way I need them, anyway?
“People change. They pick up new habits. For example, they allow a certain someone to talk them into trying oat milk for the first time.”
“That’s totally not fair. Oat milk isn’t that bad.” I interject.
“Oh really? Says the girl who orders the same thing every time.” He rolls his eyes and gives me a panty-melting smirk.