Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Zak sits down on the arm of the couch beside me, squeezing my shoulder. “We’re here for you.”
My stare bounces to each one of them. They see me as a child. A broken toy they can fix. I’m beyond fixing, though. Mom and Dad are dead. I left my home to live in this homophobic hick town. My teacher beat the shit out of me. I’m trying like hell for my best friend not to fall in love with me. And, I’m hot for a cop who caught me committing a crime and handcuffed me to his bed.
I’m fucked up, and no one can fix me.
“I’m not suicidal or anything,” I sneer. “I’m not hurting anyone. Tell me, what is the actual problem you all have with me?” I rise to my feet and shake my head. “No, better yet, keep it to yourself. I’m done.”
“You can’t be done,” Dante snarls. “As long as you live under my roof—”
A laugh barks out of me. “Really?”
Dante scowls but doesn’t look away.
“I’ll pack my shit and go then.”
Their murmured voices are left behind as I storm into my bedroom. I’m not sure what the hell I plan on doing or where I’m going, but it’s anywhere but here. I find one of my other bags and shove my clothes into it. I’ll come back later for my art stuff when no one is home. I’m just leaving when Zak stops me in the doorway. His panicked gaze searches mine.
“You’re not really leaving,” he murmurs.
“I am.”
“Stay with me. I swear, Callan, we can just be friends. Just don’t leave.”
I start past him, but his lips crash to mine. In one single kiss, I hate myself a little more for not being able to love this guy like he deserves. His tongue rubs against mine but I don’t reciprocate. Instead, I pull away and gently touch his wet lips with my fingertips.
“I’ll see you around, Zak.”
Tears well in his eyes, and he blinks rapidly to chase them away. I feel like a dick. I can’t be someone I’m not, though. All this togetherness with Zak and my siblings is too much.
I need freedom.
I need to breathe.
Cuffed to Atlas’s bed this morning was the freest I’ve felt in a long time.
“Where are you going?” Dante demands, blocking my path to the back door. “At least tell me that.”
I love my brother. I do. I just need a break.
“Atlas’s. He has an extra room and was looking for a roommate.” The lie feels good enough. “I have my phone if you need to get ahold of me.”
Shelly pushes past Dante to hug me. I breathe in my sister’s comforting perfume that reminds me of Mom before pulling from her grip. When I step out the back door, it feels as though a ton of bricks have fallen off my shoulders.
It’s harder getting over the fence with my heavy bag and no footholds, but eventually I manage. Once I land in Atlas’s yard, I stride over to his door. It opens before I have a chance to knock.
“That was fast.” His heated gaze skims over my body before landing on my lips. “Everything okay?”
“You need a roommate,” I state, lifting my chin. “Your house is in dire need of decorating and updating. I can help with that. Give me my own room, and I’ll give you that. Deal?”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“What about us?”
“There is no us.”
“Not yet.” His lips kick up on one side. “There will be.”
“I want my own room,” I reiterate. “You can’t just keep me as your love slave.”
“Can’t I?”
Oh my God, this man is maddening. Shoving past him, I storm into his house and drop my bag. The chaise lounge beckons for me. Rather than sinking onto it, I face Atlas.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” His brow lifts.
“You can kiss me and claim me like the caveman you are. If things get weird or boring, we take that side of the equation out. I need a place to breathe, and you need someone to fix your house up.”
“Oh,” he growls, “things will definitely get weird. I’m counting on it. But, you’re going to like my brand of weird. Boring? Never.”
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep my cool even though he heats my body temperature to a thousand degrees with every prowled step my way. I have to crane my neck to look up at him when he gets so close his chest brushes against my arms. He plucks my arms loose and plants my hands on his hips. Then, his massive, rough hands cradle my face as he drinks in my features up close.
“Remember,” he murmurs. “You don’t play with anyone but me.”
“Until I call it quits.”
“Something tells me you’ll grow addicted.”
I roll my eyes at him. With surprising force, he slams his hips against mine, shoving me up against the wall and pinning me with his body. In record speed, we’re both hard through our jeans. My heart is racing inside my chest—a violent cacophony of need for more but also the desire to resist.