Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
What I want from Ayla is...everything. Now. I want her to be my wife. To carry my baby. But as the product of a broken home, I know how a young pregnancy can destroy a family before it ever gets a chance. I refuse to do that to my Ayla. I've managed to make it four years without letting my hunger overtake me, but now she's hungry, too...and my will is weak.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
one
Ayla
I can’t believe I damaged my car.
I’m usually so careful when backing in and out of spaces in the library parking lot, but this afternoon I backed straight into a pole. My rear bumper has a giant dent in the center. Looking at it clogs my throat with panic and floods my eyes with hot moisture. No, no, no. This car belonged to my mother. It’s the most precious possession I’ve ever owned. Will ever own.
When she died, my father sold all her possessions, because it was too painful for him to look at them. This car is all I have left of her. But I’m a senior in high school and don’t have the money to repair the old Volvo, but I can’t bring it home like this. My father will kill me.
Two years ago, on the morning I turned sixteen, I woke up to find my mother’s car sitting in the driveway. It had been sitting in the shed since her death, the engine dead, upholstery ripped, one of the windows cracked. But that morning, I found it shiny and restored in front of the house with a giant red bow on the top. It is the only kind thing my controlling father has ever done for me and now I’ve ruined it.
I slide my fingers into my dark brown hair and force myself to survey the damage one more time, tears slipping down my cheeks. There’s a reflection in the rear window that stops a sob from building in my throat, however. The vehicle repair shop across the street from the library. I turn and look at the building, my heart starting to race a little faster. I walk past the repair shop all the time—and as usual, he’s standing in the opening of the garage.
Watching me.
Like he always does.
Flynt Porter.
Or as I like to call him, my shadow.
He’s a high school senior like me, but he doesn’t look like one. Most of the boys in my grade are awkward and greasy and gangly, but not Flynt. He’s a man. At six foot two, he towers over most of the teachers, let alone the other students. When he walks down the hallway with his worldly swagger and tortured eyes, the boys scatter and the girls sneak peeks from behind their locker doors, but no one ever speaks to him. He’s like a living legend. The boy who essentially raised himself, on account of his absent parents. He’s been working at the garage since he was thirteen, living upstairs and making his own way.
He's the most beautiful person to ever exist.
His body is strong. Thick. His jaw appears to be cracking walnuts at all times. But his eyelashes are so dark, it almost seems like he’s wearing makeup around those piercing green eyes. And for some strange reason, he has chosen me to watch.
To follow up and down the hallways. To every class.
I’ll never figure out how our class schedules match exactly, but they do. Every year since the beginning of high school. He sits behind me, never saying a word, just grinds that jaw and stares at the nape of my neck while my stomach does acrobatics. As a result of Flynt’s undivided attention, no one talks to me, either. I don’t know whether to hate him or love him for it. I’m not a very social person. I just like to keep to myself, read my fantasy novels and dream of the future. Where I’ll go. What I’ll do. It’s kind of nice not having the pressure of friendships and boyfriends demanding my attention.
But every morning, I wake up and wonder if today is the day Flynt will speak to me. It never is. But considering the horrible dent in my bumper, it appears I’ll be the one approaching him. What other choice do I have? I’ll beg him to fix my mess, if needed. I’ll pay him in installments. I’ll do his homework for the rest of senior year. Whatever I must do to restore my mother’s car. It’s all I have left of her.
My pulse is flying as I get into the Volvo and carefully drive it across the street.
There’s a flash of surprise on Flynt’s face when I signal that I’ll be turning into the garage, but it disappears just as quickly. He steps back and watches me slowly glide into the concrete bay. I turn off the engine and sit in the silence for a long moment, my eyes locked with Flynt’s through the front windshield. Goodness, he looks ever more like a grown-up in this environment. In those coveralls. His huge shoulders look like they could bust through the seams at any moment, his dark hair tangled around the collar.
When he strides toward the driver’s side, clearly intending to open the door for me, I make a small sound and press a hand to my belly. It’s flipping uncontrollably. What am I thinking coming in here? It’s so secluded. We’re the only ones in the garage. I’ve never even spoken to Flynt, now I’m going to ask him for the favor of a lifetime?