Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
"What do you care?"
"Are you being safe?"
"It's none of your business." She presses her lips together. "Whatever. You're right. It was one night. It didn't matter."
"We're both adults. We've moved on." It's a lie. Or I'm desperate to believe it's a lie. "Shall we?" I motion to the door.
"No."
"I insist."
She bites her lip, annoyed by me ignoring her cues. "Fine." She sets her sketchbook on the desk and picks up her coat.
I take it reflexively. Slip it over her shoulders.
My fingers brush her neck.
She shudders and leans into the touch.
Shit.
I pull my hand away. Immediately, I miss her warmth. Not just the heat of her skin but the brightness that's uniquely her. It's fading with every second.
This is what I need to do, for her, for both of us.
I repeat the mantra again and again as I don my coat, carry her backpack, lead her to the elevator.
Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind.
You have to be cruel to be kind.
You have to be cruel to be kind.
It hurts, but it's better in the long run for everyone.
But no matter how hard I try to convince myself this is best for everyone, I don't believe it.
It's best for Opal. That's obvious. But it's not best for me.
I need her warmth, her joy, her sweetness.
I need her naked in my bed, coming on my face.
She wraps her fingers around the metal railing.
I take a deep breath and push an exhale through my nose.
You have to be cruel to be kind.
The elevator arrives at the lobby with a ding. The metal doors slide open. I block them with one arm, motion after you with the other.
She forces a smile, nods, steps into the lobby.
I reach for her reflexively, but I catch myself before I place my hand on her lower back.
I want to touch her, but it's my problem, not hers.
All this bullshit is my problem, not hers.
And if it hurts me worse, well—
I pay the consequences for following my dick into danger.
She walks through the lobby with fast steps. Opal bristles as she moves outside, but she doesn't mention the cold.
For a few minutes, we wait together in silence. Then her car arrives, I open the door for her, help her inside.
"I'll see you Monday," she says. "Have a nice weekend."
"You too."
"I will, thanks." She hugs her backpack. "I have a date tomorrow."
"Good luck."
"Thanks." She forces a smile. "I do want to thank you for your other education. Since I'll be putting some of my knowledge to use."
My fingers curl into fists. "Be safe."
"I will. Thanks. We're going dancing first." She names a club in Hell's Kitchen. "Have a good night." She turns to the driver and offers instructions.
The car pulls away from the street. I stand there, watching her leave, trying to convince myself she's telling the truth.
Trying to convince myself I don't care who she fucks or if she fucks a different man every night.
Trying to convince myself to think of something else.
I don't.
For hours, I turn over Opal's words. Until I finally give in to the images in my head.
Her body stretches over my bed, her blue eyes wracked with pleasure, her long legs wrapped around my waist.
For a moment, I'm satisfied. Then I want more.
I want everything.
Again, I toss and turn.
All day, I try to ignore the thoughts of her date. I swim, I fix breakfast, I work.
At sunset, I give up on resisting thoughts of her. I give up on convincing myself her date is a lie.
It probably is.
But just in case it's not—
I check the hours on the club.
Open at eight.
At seven forty-five, I step into a cab.
I tell myself I'll keep my distance, watch from afar, respect her privacy.
But I don't believe it.
Chapter Eleven
OPAL
"What the hell am I doing?" I press my knees together. "I don't even have a fake date."
"Am I invisible?" Izzie taps her blazer.
"Izzie."
"What? I'm hot."
"True."
"You're hot. Why can't we be on a date?"
"You have a boyfriend."
"He doesn't know that."
"I don't like you that way."
"That either." She raises a brow and smooths her skirt. She's in a re-purposed prep school uniform, and she looks hot. Like one of those fetishized action girls in a Quentin Tarantino movie. "How do you want to try it?"
"What?"
She holds up one finger. Then two. Then her fist.
"That isn't possible."
"It is."
"You've actually tried?"
"With Alice." Izzie's ex, the one who stomped her heart junior year. Over the summer, she fell, hard, for Jamie.
"Which way?"
"Both."
"No."
"Yes. Too much for you?"
"Too much."
"I know. A strap-on."
My cheeks flush. Izzie is interested in anyone, regardless of gender expression, but she knows I'm strictly interested in dick. And I know she's strictly interested in Jamie.
Or is that changing?
"Are you and Jamie okay?" I ask.
"Let's not."
"Are you still… together?"
"Please, Opal. Not tonight."
"Okay." I check the subway car again. It's not crowded, but it's not empty either. There's an older woman across from us. She's too busy playing a game on her phone to notice. "If you watch the volume."