Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
My scowl deepens. “I don’t think you’re getting a clear picture of things.”
Finally, she takes the hint and closes her laptop. “Maybe if we spent more time together…”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“It’s just that you talk a lot about Sloane lately. Kind of all the time, actually.”
“I’m sorry I can’t pretend to be interested in London hot spots.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “We don’t have to talk about London. Or anything, in fact.”
She leans in to kiss me, that cloying glue smell filling my nostrils. I force myself not to breathe through my nose and try to ignore the sticky-wet texture of her skin against my chin. I swear, most of the cosmetic stuff that girls do to themselves is a major turnoff.
Still, when she reaches down to stroke me through my jeans, I put the thought aside and let her take my shirt off. She tosses hers aside to show me she’s wearing my favorite bra, which is a nice gesture. It’s white with red trim and stacks her tits up nicely.
For all she can get on my nerves sometimes, Amy’s a sweet girl. And she’s got fantastic tits. The first time I got my hand up her shirt at her sister’s dance recital, I almost bust a nut just palming one soft, heavy breast.
I dip my fingers inside one bra cup and pull it down to show me her tiny pink nipple. Tug on it a little while she travels down my body to unzip my jeans and stroke me. She looks up under those thick eyelashes and sweeps her light brown hair over one shoulder before she applies her tongue, licking the tip.
Pleasure skitters up my spine. I close my eyes, and then, for some awful reason, an image of Sloane sucking off RJ gets stuck in my head. Duke was bad enough, and we all know where he’s been. The new kid, though, by his own admission has bounced all around the country. Probably hooking up with only the finest suburban meth addicts. I wonder if Sloane’s even had him tested for STIs.
“Is this okay?” Amy pumps her hand. “Do you need me to do something else?”
It’s only then I realize she’s been at this a minute, and I’m only getting about half wood here.
“No, it’s fine. Just use your tongue.”
Amy typically gives good head. She enjoys it. So I try to concentrate, squeezing her tit and tugging the hard bud of her nipple. But she’s at it for a while, and I still can’t get up to full mast. Eventually she sits up, shaking out her hand cramp with a frustrated huff.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess I’m just tired. Swim practice took it out of me.”
She cocks her head at me while I tuck myself back into my jeans. “Swim practice,” she echoes, dubious. “Or…here’s an idea…” She gives an angry snort. “This is about Sloane.”
I tense up. “Why would you say that?”
“Because, Silas, she’s all you talk about anymore.” Amy makes a mocking face and affects a poor imitation of me. “Sloane’s mad at me. Sloane’s being a bitch. Sloane has a new boyfriend.”
“I think I take offense to that characterization.”
She jumps off the bed and fishes her shirt from the floor. “Seriously, you’re kind of obsessed with her, and I’m not okay with it.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Amy’s tone gets increasingly sharper. “Oh, really? So you don’t have a thing for her?”
For the second time during a pivotal moment in a critical conversation, my idiot self hesitates a beat too long.
My girlfriend’s face collapses. “Oh my God.”
“Amy, come on. It’s not like that.”
She ignores my half-hearted defense, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I think I knew even when we first started dating.” Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, which is trembling visibly. “But I wanted you so much, and I figured at some point, if you liked me enough, you’d get over it.” She sucks in short, muted breaths and wipes her cheeks. “I have done everything to be what you wanted, but none of it mattered because you never liked me at all, did you? You were never capable of loving me.” A strangled sob fills the room. “You were just killing time until Sloane was single.”
“Amy—”
“I was nicer to you than you deserved,” she says with tears streaming down her ashen cheeks. “You’re not a good person, Silas.”
“Come on. You’re blowing it way out of proportion. I don’t have a thing for Sloane,” I mutter, finally managing to get the denial out.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth,” I lie.
“Fuck you, Silas.” She turns away, her shoulders stiff. “It’s over. Just go.”
My instinct is to stay. To spend the night reassuring her until she comes around again. This isn’t the first time her insecurities have sent her over a cliff—I know with the right amount of sweet words and soft reassurances, we can move past this. But as I get off the bed and put my shirt on, I realize I don’t give a shit anymore. This half-assed relationship has sapped enough energy out of me, and I can’t find it in me to care.