Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Someone bumps into me and I use the push that follows as motivation to head toward what I think is the kitchen. I’ve made it halfway across the room when I stop dead in my tracks, my heart thundering in my chest—no, pounding. This sensation is most definitely more pounding than thundering. Heavy, steal my breath, pounding.
Damion is here. He’s standing under the archway leading to another room and he’s watching me.
Chapter Four
Alana
The room spins and blood rushes in my ears.
I blink and expect him to vanish, but Damion’s still here, in this room, still the boy I grew up with, but not a boy at all—the same, but different than I remember. More man than boy. Taller. His jaw sharper. His muscles so much bigger. But it’s still him. He still has the dimple in his chin, the wave to his hair. The sharpness to his cheekbones.
Heat settles low in my belly.
My knees are weak just seeing him.
It’s illogical. It’s irrational. Years have passed, and other men have followed—men have followed. Not boys. Damion was a boy when I knew him. This reaction I am having right now, in this moment, is insanity. I am not a seven-year-old in a closet kissing the neighbor anymore. Or even a teen on a porch being sucked into the fantasy of the good-looking boy next door. I refuse to let him get to me.
I rotate on my heel and walk toward the kitchen and away from him, seeking out Sally, or rather the drinks she’s compelled me to locate. His eyes are on me, following me, and I can feel his shock at my departure. No, Damion, I will not fall at your feet. I will not giggle like a schoolgirl because he stands before me. Nope. Not going to happen. I travel down a long hallway and enter the kitchen. Sally is standing around the island with a group of guys, and none of them are Max.
“I found a drink,” she says, holding up her glass.
Before she knows what happened, I’m in front of her, claiming her cup, downing the contents, and choking on the bitter bite of too much tequila and not enough whatever else was mixed with it. I’m in full grimace when someone catches my arm and rotates me. Damion. “Are we really still doing this?”
I’m already feeling the heat of the alcohol slide over my face. I toss the empty cup at his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He grits his teeth, and before I know his intent, he’s captured my hand and he’s walking with me in tow. I double-step, trying to keep up, and the room is officially spinning. There’s a reason why I don’t drink often. I’m a bad drinker. I can’t get chill and just enjoy myself. I get awkward and clumsy, and my feet and language skills no longer work. But in my head, I’m still processing enough to know that downing that drink was a mistake.
Especially when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, throws me over his shoulder, and starts climbing upward. There are hoots and hollers, but all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut and will this to end. Everything is spinning, and his hand is on my ass, holding my skirt down. Otherwise, it would be at my neck. His hand is on my ass. This is going nowhere good and I can think of nothing else right now but his hand on my ass and the blood rushing to my head.
I’m aware of us reaching the top level and him cutting down a hallway.
The next thing I know, we’re in a room and he kicks the door shut. He lowers me to my feet and I shove against his unmoving chest. “Don’t throw me around like I’m one of your dolls to be played with.”
“Can you just let it go? We were kids.”
“It was only three years ago, Damion.”
“A lot has changed in three years.”
“So you’re not a player anymore? Because you were a player when you were in diapers. I just pretended it didn’t matter.” I try to walk away.
He catches my arms, fire in his touch, and when my eyes collide with his, the hunger in his eyes steals my breath. “I didn’t know if I would ever see you again. I had to kiss you.”
“You should have broken up with her first,” I whisper, because my fury is gone and all that is left is tequila and this man. The room is hot and I’m hotter. My knees are weak. I’m weak. He makes me weak and that is not who I am anymore.
“We were always different.” His voice is low, gravelly, weighted with emotion, or maybe it’s the tequila making me see what I want to see in him. Maybe all this is about an old friend trying to make things right with me. Which bothers me way too much. I need this to just go away. I need him to go away and stop making me feel whatever this funny feeling in my chest is right now.