Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
She whispers back.
And, bam, they're making out.
Patrick chuckles. "They are insatiable."
"It's sweet," I say.
He moves closer, pulls me into another tight hug. "We can be insatiable too."
I respond by pressing my lips to his. It feels so good to kiss him like this. Desire courses through my veins.
But the physical need gives way to the emotional. I want to drag him to his apartment and fuck him senseless and talk to him all night.
I want to tell him this.
I want to hear him say I understand.
I want it so badly, and every second I spend with my body near his, I feel it more intensely.
Only I feel my fear more intensely too. There's too much at risk. I can't lose this.
He pulls back with a sigh. "You keep doing that and I'll fuck you right here."
"You think I won't?" I ask.
He nods.
I blush. He's right. In front of strangers is one thing. In front of his friends?
That's terrifying.
His friends interrupt before I can respond. Dare and the Spain-bound Val emerge with a bottle of gin and a handful of limes (her) and a bag of ice and a stack of cups (him).
She introduces herself, offers to fix me a gin and tonic, asks me a billion and one questions about my flavor preferences.
We shift into an easy conversation about travel and school and guys.
Patrick and Dare sit on a lounger, shooting the shit as they watch us talk. I keep feeling his eyes on me.
I'm not sure Val feels Dare's eyes on her, but every time I glance in the guy's direction, I see him staring.
I fall into the party spirit. Gin and tonic and conversation. A silly game of truth or dare, mostly filled with jokes about Dare needing to dare a woman to touch him, questions about past crushes, and dives into the pool.
Grilled chicken and corn on the cob and salt and pepper potato chips.
A walk to the beach and sunset and kissing on the sand.
Everything is perfect and easy until we get back to the apartment complex, and I grab my phone to check my texts from Julie.
But it's not my phone.
It's Patrick's.
And it's there, right on the lock screen: New Comment on Hearts and Thorns.
Chapter Forty-Five
IMOGEN
For a minute, I stare at the cell, dumbstruck.
Maybe this is a mistake.
Maybe it's my phone.
Maybe I changed my notifications setting by accident.
The devices look the same from the outside, but my thumb doesn't work as an unlock.
My passcode fails.
The lock screen picture of me gives everything away.
Patrick took this picture, in his apartment, when he said I looked adorable in his shirt. One of the times, anyway.
It was on his phone.
He never sent it to me.
And I'd never set an image of myself as my background. My background is always some body of water.
Without thinking, I punch his birthday into the phone.
No good.
Month and day only.
Woosh. It unlocks.
And it's there, right in his browser.
My site.
He's reading.
How long has he been reading?
How long has he known without telling me?
I never used our names, but everything else is obvious.
Did he see my site on my computer? My phone? Did I accidentally cross-post to Instagram? Leave some other clue?
I don't know.
It doesn't matter.
He knows.
He knows everything, and he hasn't said anything.
I drop his phone on Dare's couch. I find mine.
Same password, same lock screen, same home screen.
One text from Julie, requesting an update on my activities.
The normal emails. Updates on class, sales, notifications on my site.
Which of my followers is he?
Has he ever left a comment?
What did he say under the guise of anonymity?
I slip my cell in my purse, and I rush out of the apartment.
The party has wound down, only Dare and his friend Val, Luna keeping Patrick company.
He lights up when he sees me. Then he notices my expression, and he dims.
Guilt spreads all over his face.
He knows I know.
How does he know?
Has he really been waiting to tell me all this time?
"Excuse me," I mutter as I rush to the door. "I have to get home."
"Imogen—" He turns to me but he doesn't chase after me. He watches me go.
He says something to his friend.
She says something back.
And then he stays.
He lets me go.
He lets me get in my car and drive away.
Chapter Forty-Six
PATRICK
The drive home is a blur. I shower, change my clothes, fix something to eat.
All of it, a blur.
She doesn't text.
She doesn't call.
She doesn't update her site.
All night, I toss and turn. Apologies form on my tongue. I'm sorry, Imogen. But they dissolve the second I reach for my phone.
I'm sorry isn't enough.
And it's not right either. Because I'll never be sorry I stumbled on her site, dove into her words, fell in love with her through her posts.
How can I apologize for that?
Chapter Forty-Seven
PATRICK
My cell buzzes against my sheets.
I reach for it reflexively.
A million words form in my throat and dissolve on my tongue, all in the time it takes to answer the call.