Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“So you believe in soulmates?” I put a heavy dose of sarcasm into my voice.
“Maybe not soulmates. But I believe in true love. Even if I’ve spent too damn long lying to myself and everybody around me about it, it might make me a fool for still believing in it, but I do.”
We stop near the lapping waves, the sound of the bars muted by distance.
His eyes are suddenly serious, starlight reflected in them. There’s something about his penetrating look that’s very not casual.
“Why does it make you a fool?” I ask.
“It’s depressing. I don’t want to ruin the mood.”
I grin. “Touché.” It’s what I said about my poems. “But you want to tell me, so tell me.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Do I, Tori? You think you can read this stranger so easily, huh?”
He’s trying to make this into something it’s not, something it can never be. “It’s not that deep,” I tell him.
“Strange thing for a poet to say. Perhaps you’re just a woman of contradictions.”
“I want to know,” I admit. “Because suddenly, you looked…”
“Go on,” he whispers.
It’s like he knows I don’t want to say this, any of it, veer too close to anything real, and voice something I’ve pushed away my whole life. “Like you’re ready to take out your rage on the world. Like you’re almost done hoping. Like you didn’t believe…”
I stop just in time. I was going to say, Didn’t believe in happily ever afters before tonight. What. The. Heck. Is. Wrong. With. Me?
He smooths a hand through his glistening silver hair. It causes the fabric of his shirt to tighten on his biceps, his sculpted body so utterly tempting. “I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this but screw it. You should know what you’re getting into.”
I want to tell him that I’m not getting into anything. But I can’t force the words—the lie.
“I had a long-term girlfriend once. I thought we had a good relationship and the same goals. I was working my way through medical school, determined to make my way in the world instead of working for the family company my parents left behind. I guess she wanted more, so she left me for my brother, and they had a kid together after. They both died in a car accident two years ago, leaving Elliot an orphan.”
He speaks mechanically, with no hint of heartache. It must be a defense mechanism. Annoyingly, I find myself wanting to peel back his layers to get to the pain beneath.
“Whoa,” I mutter.
“It’s heavy,” he says, nodding. “Too heavy for a night like this.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean—no, thanks for telling me. But…”
What am I doing?
The poet in me cracks through to the surface as I grip his shoulders and pull myself close. The heat of our bodies collides and triggers another wave of hunger.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Alex. Nobody deserves to go through that. What happened to their kid?”
“He lives with me now,” Alex replies, his voice trembling. “I do my best, but it’s difficult. I work so often.”
“But you did the right thing despite the betrayal,” I say earnestly.
“I wasn’t going to take it out on the kid. He deserves a life.”
“You’re a good person.”
Oh, jeez. My voice shudders, and a sob threatens to take over. I’m thinking of my dad, his death, and the pain of growing up without a parent. Being close to him makes me want to spill it all out.
“Tori?” he whispers.
“It’s nothing.”
“You can tell me,” he says, his tone eager to hear me out. Eager to get to know me.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
How did we get to this serious place? Is that just who we are?
“I should go,” I tell him, afraid to let him in even more than I inadvertently already have. “It’s late.”
“Let me call you a cab—”
“I’ll get an Uber. Don’t worry about it.”
I turn away, meaning to run down the beach, my blood rushing in my ears. The panic is all too real.
Is this what it’s been like for Mom all those times, the quick connection, her mind filling with impossible dreams? I won’t make the same mistake of throwing myself into it. I have to remember that bad endings are far more common than happy ones.
He catches my arm and turns me to face him. I gasp as he turns feral and pulls me close.
His lips press against mine with a passion I’ve never felt or imagined. He sinks his hands into my hips as though he’s been waiting his entire life for me, as though no one else could ever compare—like I’m genuinely as perfect as he claims.
He grips my ass, our bodies so close I can feel his solid length pressing against my belly. He feels huge and starving for us to take this further. Our mouths open, and our tongues clash with more desperation than I even understand.