Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
That last thought jumped into the mind games without permission. I was curious … determined … not a masochist. Snatching up every douche bag just to piss off my dad was yesteryear Livy. I found his body sexy, not his attitude. I wasn’t that girl. Not anymore.
“You’re in over your head.” He stood and escaped before I completely cleansed my inappropriate thoughts.
I chased after him, hellbent on breaking him. Saving an innocent victim. Maybe just … Just what? I didn’t know. My feet carried me without giving my brain time to figure out what I was doing. It didn’t matter.
He was gone.
Not a distant silhouette. Not a fading shadow.
Just … gone.
After adjusting my backpack on my shoulder, I stabbed my fingers through my hair, turning in a slow circle, surveying the sparse dotting of students milling around. “What does that mean?” I mumbled. “How am I in over my head? Unless … you’re into something shady, Slade Wylder.”
I skipped out early on my last class of the day, packed my Jeep, and cruised to the beach to wash away the day from my body and him from my mind. Hours later, when the evening breeze slithered over my body, covering my skin with goose bumps, I glanced at my phone.
Aubrey: Is it weird that I bought a loaf of bread several days ago and I’ve only had two pieces, but now all that’s left are heels?
I grinned, knowing she wasn’t really mad. In fact, I could easily imagine her eye roll, like when I left out the peanut butter. Aubrey had passionate dreams and possessed mad organizational skills, but she struggled in school—unlike me, who rarely had to crack a book. Another trait I inherited from my dad. If I hadn’t spoon-fed Aubrey everything she needed to know to pass her hardest classes, the bread theft might have been a bigger offense.
Livy: I’ll pick some up on my way home. Grabbing dinner, then I’ll be home. LY.
“Leaving?”
I turned toward Elias, the only person I knew who spent more time at the beach than I did. He ran a hand through his wet, dirty blond hair, water rivulets sliding down his bronzed torso.
“Yeah.” I leaned to the side and twisted my hair to wring out the water before slipping on my favorite wide, ripped-neck sweatshirt that hung off my shoulder. “I’m starving.”
He followed me to the Jeep and helped me secure the board on top of it. “Wanna grab a pizza and go back to my place?”
I clenched my fingers around the frayed cuffs of my sweatshirt and leaned my back against the driver’s door. “Yes.” I tried to suppress my grin, but it only made it bigger as I felt my cheeks flush. “But I’m not going to do that.”
His head cocked to the side, sexy yet adorable like a puppy. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re my favorite fantasy.” I shrugged, diverting my gaze to the side.
A hearty laugh spread from deep in his chest to his gorgeous, white smile. “Sounds like the perfect reason for you to come over.”
“Nope.” I forced my gaze to his, and I held up the key fob and unlocked the Jeep. “I like you best in my fantasies. And I like sharing space with you here. I like flirting with you.” I turned. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Me? What?” He coughed with disbelief.
I climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’ve heard you don’t sleep with the same girl twice.”
“So?” He lifted a shoulder.
“So … I think it’s infinitely more stimulating to be the one you can’t have.”
His only comeback was a smirk. Yeah … he knew the chase was everything. “Catch you later, then.”
I grabbed the door to shut it. “You’ll never catch me, but I look forward to watching you try.” With an equally sly grin, I shut the door, started the Jeep, and pulled out of the lot.
Since the Jeep needed gas and my stomach needed food, I stopped by a convenience store to fill up and grab an iced tea and lukewarm slice of pizza before stopping for a loaf of bread. Holding the slice of pizza between my teeth, I opened the Jeep door.
“Wallet,” an angry voice gritted in my ear as the pizza fell to the ground along with the iced tea.
The owner of the angry voice slammed me into the door.
Tears burned my eyes as realization snaked up my spine. Stale cigarette-smoke breath washed over my cheek as its suffocating warmth enveloped my ear. The tip of a knife dug into my side below my ribs, already having cut through my sweatshirt.
“Make one fucking sound and I’ll gut you right here. Just give me your fucking wallet.”
My wallet was in my bag on the floor of the Jeep—along with my pepper spray. I had my bank card in the back pocket of my jean shorts. My dad taught me what to do in that situation. Only, I’d never been in the actual situation. And I didn’t do what he told me to do. I wasn’t prepared.