Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
There’s no escaping it, and I haven’t made it any easier.
I’ve blamed him for things he never even knew were happening, and there’s nothing fair about that.
Guilt resides heavily on my chest as Ezra collects his electric guitar once again. He strikes the chords to their next song and turns to face me. My brows furrow, noticing the way Rock and Dylan both glance nervously at one another. This definitely wasn’t in the script, but as long as Ezra continues to play, so will the rest of the band.
Lyrics pour out of him about a girl he’d lost, one he broke into a million shattered pieces, but one that he vows to catch.
He tells me how one day, he will make up for the time they lost, how one day he’ll swim across every ocean to get to her, how one day he’s going to be able to love her the way she deserves, and it occurs to me that he’s taking his chance to make me truly hear him. To hear the way he’s longed for me, to hear the way he hurts, to hear how no matter what obstacles stand in our way, he will make this right.
And as he sings his sweet words to a packed stadium, he can’t take his eyes off me. Tears roll down my cheeks, replacing the ones he’d only just wiped away, and as I hold his dark gaze, I see the agony deep within his eyes, and I know that he means every last word with his whole heart.
“One Day” comes to an end, and as his attention falls back to his screaming fans, the music hitches up and turns into something a little more sexual, and as the dancers make their way back on the stage, a hardback iron chair is put out.
Ezra sits, lounging back with his legs casually stretched out, and as the lights fade out, I hear Ezra’s voice come over the speaker. This song is about pure, unadulterated lust. Wanting something so bad, it hurts, and as he sings in that deep tone I’ve loved since I was a girl, the dancers move up on him.
They roll their hips as Ezra moves his hand over their curves, one walking around behind him as the other drops down in front. She takes his knees and forces them apart before rolling toward him, her full tits rubbing against his groin. It’s the epitome of sex expressed in dance, and every part of me despises it.
Ezra doesn’t dare look this way, and as the crowd roars with excitement, whoops, and wolf-whistles, it spurs the dancers on.
They grind against him, taking liberties I’ve never had, and as Jessica looks this way and grins, I want nothing more than to gouge her eyes out of her fake-tanned face. She might be able to dance all over him for the world to see, but she’ll never have him, not like I do.
There’s no denying she’s a fucking bitch.
At the start of the show, she stood next to me and declared that my undying desperation for Ezra was too obvious, and I was embarrassing myself, and while that might be true on some level, she wasn’t the one kissing him right before the show.
She insisted that he could do better, which again, I’m sure is true, but when she told me that he’ll never want me the way he wants her, it became startlingly obvious that she truly has no idea who the hell I am. One quick Google search and she’ll know all about our history, and I’m sure she’ll be left feeling like an idiot. But her bullshit isn’t something I’m interested in, and all I could do was scowl as she sashayed to the stage.
Fucking bitch.
I have always prided myself on being a woman who supports other women, but then people like Jessica come along, and there’s nothing I want more than to bitch-slap her right across her fake titties. All I know is that the song he’s singing perfectly lays out everything he’s wondered about me over the years. The way I’d feel. The way I’d taste. It’s just another part of our story—the part we never got to explore—and right now, he’s allowing some skank to rub herself all over him while he sings about me, and I am not okay with it.
Call me a jealous bitch if you must. Actually, I know damn well that I’m a jealous bitch. I’ve been one since the second it occurred to me as a kid that I was too young for him and that there were so many other beautiful women out there who could give him exactly what he wanted without it seeming like a terrible scandal.
Yep. Even knowing he would never choose her over me, every bone in my body is full of jealousy, through and through.