Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
They knew each other before she met Adam. They were just friends. No, more than that. She was like a sister to him. I do the math. Adam and Eva met in their early twenties.
Bryson told me he was raised in an orphanage. Eva was ashamed and didn’t want anybody to know.
Leaning back in my desk chair, the audio editing software opens on my laptop. I nod to myself, knowing that must be it, or close to it. The pieces are all fitting together.
I hate how I left things with Bryson, snapping at him, but he was giving me nothing, no sign of how he felt about what I told him. Just smirks and vague comments, hardly any reaction at all. Except for the fire. The kissing. The touching.
I go downstairs to make some coffee and find Bryson at the table on his laptop. He’s got his headphones on as he works, his big fingers flying deftly across the keyboard, reminding me of how gently he moved when he cast my hand.
He doesn’t see me, giving me a chance to stare, to obsess over the silver appearing in his hair, the broadness of his back.
He must sense me because he turns. His eyes seem to spark as he stares at me like he’s going to grab me again, kiss me.
Taking off his headphones, he says, “Is everything okay?”
“I think I’ve figured it out,” I murmur. “You and Eva grew up in the same orphanage. She was ashamed of it because she was like that sometimes. Proud. It was part of why I loved her, how she always attempted to show her best face to the world.”
Bryson’s lips flutter between a smile and something else, like he’s proud of me for guessing it but knows it puts him in an awkward position.
“You don’t have to say yes or no, but if I’m wrong, you can tell me that.”
He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry for snapping,” I say after a pause.
He rises to his feet and strides over to me. My body starts pulsing straight away, and I find myself wishing, strangely, that I could remember the moment he carried me from that outhouse—remember the feeling of being saved.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “I know it’s difficult for you. I didn’t give you any answers.”
He envelops me in his arms. I sink against him, knowing that no matter what else happens between us, I’ll never be able to resist this feeling. He holds me tenderly, pressing his mouth against the top of my head, inhaling like he wants to breathe all of me in.
“I still want to take you on that date,” he says after a pause.
“Really? Before… you know, it, you said we had to end us.”
“Maybe we have to, but I’m talking about what I want, what I need. I want to take you someplace we can forget about everything… and talk, really talk. Whatever happens after that, we’ll have to deal with it.”
He’s being vague, and I almost press him for concrete answers, but I get the sense this is the most he can summon right now.
“We’re in Adam’s house,” he says, as though reminding me.
With a sigh, I say, “I know. I get that. It’s a tricky situation. I’m just relieved you’re not running like hell now that you know what a crazy obsessive freak I am.”
I infuse some irony into my voice, but there’s some truth there, too.
“I’m not running,” he says, holding me firmer. “You’d have to do a lot more than want me to make me do that.”
I know I could ask him for more, demand more, but for now, it’s enough to rest my cheek against his chest and listen to the powerful pounding of his heart. The beats move into me like they are fusing us, like—even if he won’t say it—he wants it all, the dreams filling my notebook.
“Where are you going?” Tiffany asks over the phone.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, an excited flutter moving through me despite what happened. It’s like the drugging, and the pain can fade away because Bryson beat it.
He won. He saved me.
“A restaurant outside the city,” I whisper.
It’s evening, and the day has passed with more work, reading, and a slightly awkward tension between Bryson and me in the house. When we passed each other in the hall, he held me and kissed me, but always backed off before his volcano of want erupted.
Adam is home now, hence my low voice.
“Adam’s working all day tomorrow,” I go on. “Bryson and I are going for an early dinner. He said he wants to talk. I thought he’d run if he ever knew the truth, but he didn’t. He isn’t.”
“Just be careful,” Tiffany says. “If he knows you’re crazily obsessed, it’d be easy for him to get you into bed.”