Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
I don’t know why I’m so pissed, but I am. Something in her words has me derailing, and I don’t think before taking a step in her direction.
Furious, I advance toward her until there’s only a hair’s breadth between our bodies. Her heaving chest brushes against mine. I tower over her smaller frame. When I speak, my voice is barely even recognizable to my own ears. “And you think I want to touch Jasper’s sloppy seconds? I don’t do leftovers, Riley. Consider the orgasm you got as charity.”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, I know they were the wrong thing to say. I’m instantly filled with remorse. But it’s too late.
Fuck!
Riley jerks back as if I just punched her. Her eyes widen, and she makes a choked sound in the back of her throat. It sounds like a wounded animal: broken and pained.
She takes two steps back, unsteady on her feet. The expression on her face, it’s something I’ve never seen before. It’s not anger or frustration.
It’s a shattering vulnerability.
My heart stammers in my chest at the sight of it. The fragile look in her eyes, and the way her body hunches over like she’s in physical pain.
Riley swallows thickly. “This is over, Colton. This g-game of y-yours. It’s over. It’s d-done. Don’t. Just d-don’t come near me again. For the sake of both our sanity, stay away.”
She spins on her heels and flees into the night.
My lungs squeeze and I can’t fucking breathe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Grayson — 17 years old
I can’t say no to my aunt.
That’s the problem.
When Oaklynn came over this afternoon and told Aunt Naveah how she wanted to go to the haunted house, but only if I came along — my aunt gave me a probing look, and then said, “Be a gentleman and take the girl, Grayson. She’s asking so nicely.”
Which is why I’m here now, bored and annoyed.
Aunt Naveah is worried that I’m having trouble making friends. She doesn’t know that I don’t want to make friends. I don’t trust the people at Berkshire Academy. Their vain arrogance, bullying tactics and childish vanity are the biggest turn off.
Oaklynn is the only one I tolerate. Only because her family has a close relationship with the Hales. I have no choice but to tolerate her presence. So, I guess we’re ‘friends.’
I think Aunt Naveah wishes Oaklynn was more than a friend.
“Oaklynn is a nice girl,” she’d say to me, trying to sound convincing.
She is, but she’s not Riley.
She’s not my Goldilocks.
The lonely girl on the bench, with yearning in her eyes.
Oaklynn doesn’t make me want to draw her out, but Goldilocks? Yeah, she was practically calling to me. To sketch the curve of her face and the fullness of her lips.
“Why won’t you come in with us?” Oaklynn whines, bringing my attention back to her.
She places her hands on her hips, tapping her left foot haughtily. She’s a stage-five clinger, this one. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
Irritated, I sit on the curb of the parking lot and cross my arms over my chest. “You wanted me to come, so I’m here. But only because my aunt asked me to not because I wanted to. I’m not joining you for anything else.” I nod toward her little group of friends, who are eyeing me up and down suggestively and then giggling among themselves. “You have your friends. Go have your fun.”
She makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and then stomps away. I watch as they enter the haunted house and then let out a relieved sigh. Finally, some silence from her constant squawking.
I take my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my apps, selecting the puzzle game I’ve been playing for a few days now. I’ve been stuck on level 98 since yesterday.
Just when I’m about to unlock the next level, my gaze catches a flash of blonde hair and my attention is quickly diverted to her.
The world stills, and my chest warms at the sight of Riley.
Only for it to fill with ice when I see her rushing across the field in panic, her face flushed and tears running down her cheeks.
I’m instantly on my feet and marching toward her with purpose. Is she hurt? Did someone say something to her again? I’ve seen the sneers they give her, heard the things they say behind her back or to her face, if they’re bold enough.
I watch as Riley crumples in the middle of the field, her knees hitting the grass as she lets out a choked sob. She’s crying…why? Who fucking hurt her?
Once I’m closer, I’m careful not to spook her. My chest tightens at the sound of her broken cries and I have the strong urge to pull her into my arms — to keep her safe from anyone who dares to hurt her.