Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Braxton’s breath was warm against my face. Fuck, I hated that he could manage this, that I could go from having the upper hand in this little game we played to thinking the guy in the bar was right and we just needed to bone and get it over with.
He leaned in, mouth close to my ear, and I wondered if he’d lick it again. “Remember what I said earlier? If you ask nicely, I might be willing to fuck you.”
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! My dick was throbbing, begging for me to open my mouth and say please. But there was no chance I was letting him do this. He’d gotten the best of me earlier, and now it was my turn. “Oh, Sunshine, when we finally succumb to this, no one said you would get to be the one doing the fucking.”
He sucked in a sharp breath.
This round went to me.
CHAPTER FIVE
Braxton
Asher had people over again when I got home, but not as many as the other night. Weekend, weekday, it didn’t matter to him. If it ended in day, it was the perfect time to party.
I stayed up and smoked a bowl with them before heading to my room. Fucking Tyson. I couldn’t believe he’d left me speechless. I liked being the one to do that to him, liked leaving him standing there slack-jawed and dick hard, instead of the other way around.
And I had been—hard. Just by being close to him.
I showered. I’d moved into Grandma’s room when she’d gone into the home. I hadn’t wanted to, but she’d insisted it be me instead of Asher, so I had my own bathroom in there. I kept a small fridge too because there had been too many times I’d bought food and Asher’s friends had eaten it all. I fell into bed wearing nothing but my boxer briefs, then did an hour or so of schoolwork before hitting the lights and looking at my phone.
The only social media account I had was an old Instagram page I’d had to start for a school assignment. All that shit was dumb if you asked me. It made people feel bad about themselves looking at everyone’s happy life without realizing that behind the scenes, they were dealing with shit too.
Still, I found myself logging in to the account, going to the search screen, and typing in Tyson Langley. It was exactly what I knew it would be—lacrosse, parties, his friends, getting drunk and stuff like that. Nothing real, nothing of substance. What the fuck was it about him that twisted me up so much?
But then I saw a photo of the beach at sunrise. It didn’t have as many likes or comments as the others. No one said, Hawt, or Fuck yeah, bro! or any of the other dumb shit I saw on his more popular pictures.
He hadn’t captioned it. It was just a quiet photo, the sky full of pinks and oranges, at a time of day I wouldn’t have thought Tyson ever woke up.
A few rows down, there was a Fuck liars meme. The comments were agreeing with him, backslapping and ass-kissing kind of comments, but he hadn’t liked or responded to them the way he had on the party or lacrosse photos.
I scrolled down further. More dude-bro shit, jock stuff…and then a photo of an article headline about a local nurse who’d saved someone’s life when they got hit by a car. He’d captioned it Badass and hashtagged it heroes.
I went through his whole page. Most of it was exactly what I would expect from Tyson, but every once in a while, a post would stand out, something that felt like it belonged to a different person than the one who took the rest of the pictures.
There was a video of a homeless man singing and playing the guitar, and Tyson told people to go listen and give him money. There was random graffiti of a broken heart filled with thousands of names, which he’d captioned Art. None of those photos got the same amount of attention the others did, but they felt more real to me. And fuck, I was becoming way too damn obsessed with this guy. I needed to get off social media and get my ass to sleep, but instead, I went through and hearted all the photos that were unique—the sunrise and the nurse and all those things that actually felt like they mattered. He wouldn’t know it was me. The account wasn’t in my name.
Before I did something stupid like become even more curious about Tyson, I closed the app and went to sleep.
I had two classes with Tyson on Tuesdays, which was just fucking peachy.
He was following in his dad’s footsteps. His father was some tech giant on the East Coast, and I was sure Tyson would have a job waiting for him when he got out of school. I wondered if that was what he wanted, to go back to wherever he came from and work for his family…and then I wanted to remove my own brain, which was clearly defective since it kept coming back to Tyson.