Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I have to swallow down the bile that’s rising in my throat, burning a path of fire up my esophagus. Fuck. I’m an asshole. Glancing over at Ava, I see the hurt flashing in her eyes a moment before she spins around and walks away from us.
“Better run after her before she spreads her legs for someone else,” I taunt him, wanting him to punch me, to throttle me.
“Vance.” Clark’s tone holds a warning, but I’m too far gone to give a fuck.
Why the fuck is he sticking up for her anyway? To get in her pants? He could have his pick of any of the girls in this room, but no, he wants the one that’s embedded herself under my skin. The one that’s driving me insane. This isn’t just about him being late, this is so much more than that, but I’m not going to tell him that.
Fuck no.
“Get a grip,” he scoffs, and that’s when my last bit of restraint crumbles. Without thought, mercy or care, I clench my fist and slug my best friend in the jaw.
His head snaps to the side at impact as my knuckles graze his cheekbone. Pain flares through my hand and up my arm. My punch would have knocked out most guys, but not Clark. He doesn’t even straighten up all the way before swinging at me, his hit landing against the side of my face. Pain explodes across my cheek, and I relish in it. Using it to fuel my anger even further, I swing again for him, but he’s faster and instead gets me in the ribs.
The hit knocks the air from my lungs. Bastard. The crowd around us forms a small circle, people chanting both our names like we’re professional MMA fighters. The energy in the room reaches a dangerous high. I only manage to get one more hit in on him, a left hook to the nose before two guys grab onto me from behind, pulling me backward.
I pull my arms back, ready to pummel the bastards holding onto me when I see two more guys doing the same to Clark, making it so all we’re doing now is staring daggers at each other. Looking at Clark, I can see he’s pissed, like a bull in a china shop, ready to destroy, I’ve provoked him. But he provoked me too, bringing her here, antagonizing my anger.
He knows what she did to me, and how much it hurt, and still he brings her around, showing her off like she’s a trophy.
They separate us, dragging me out the front door before depositing my ass on the lawn.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. When they finally let go of me, I twist around, pushing up from the grass, lip curled, hands balled into tight fists, ready to fight. I’ll beat these asshole’s asses instead of Clark’s I tell myself. That is until I see that it's Remington and Thomas, two of North Woods biggest assholes staring back at me.
Maybe one of them I could handle, but two, no fucking way. Thomas is big, but he doesn’t have the stamina I know Remington does. I might be angry, but I’m not stupid.
“I don’t know what the hell that was between you and Clark in there, but you can’t just go around slugging people in the face. And I’ll warn you now, you’re not getting back inside the house until you chill out. If I have to separate you two again, I’ll kick both your asses.”
I’ve never seen Remington this pissed off before, there’s a vein bulging on the side of his neck and I get the feeling if Jules, his girlfriend, wasn’t standing five feet away, he would kick my ass, but since she is, I guess it’s my lucky day.
“What about Clark?” I ask, wondering if he’s getting the same treatment as me. Now that I’m away from Ava, her floral scent not sticking to my nostrils like honey I can actually think again.
Shit. I fucked up. I'm a horrible fucking friend.
“He’s cooling off in the backyard. You’re more than welcome to come back in when you are done with…whatever this is, and if you want to talk, well I’m all ears. I know what it’s like to be angry, boiling over with rage.”
“Fine.” I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension from my muscles. Remington gives me a hard look, as if he's psychoanalyzing me. I heard about what happened between him and Jules, the bet gone bad.
Maybe he thinks I’m like him, or the way he used to be. I don’t know, but I don’t like the way he’s looking at me right now. Like he can somehow fix this, or fix me. As if he can hear my thoughts being projected onto him, he takes Jules’ hand and walks back into the house with Thomas.