Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Is she fucking blind?
She eyes me a moment, then slowly backs away and rounds the kitchen, only meeting my eyes when she’s clear across the fucking room. There’s a shadow in her gaze, and I don’t like it.
“Why did you bail on me tonight, Davis?”
A humorless laugh leaves her. “You don’t get to question me now.”
“You’re looking at me differently. I want to know why.”
“You just assaulted our neighbor and basically accused me of cheating, but guess what, Crew?! You can’t cheat on someone who doesn’t want you and isn’t yours!”
“Girl, I will fucking—”
“Why did Layla think I was going to be some bitchy ballerina with a tiara?” she cuts me off, hitting me with some random shit.
“What the fuck?” My eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t do this. Just tell me.”
I eye her a minute, noting the disappointment eating her up. “Something happened at Layla’s. That’s why you didn’t come to the bar.”
She says nothing, and I creep closer.
“Davis, tell me now.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was enough to keep you from me, and I’m not okay with that. Not even a fucking little bit, so tell me before I go over there to ask myself and end up boxing in my best friend.”
She gasps. “You wouldn’t…”
“I abso-fucking-lutely would.”
“That’s insane.”
“When it comes to you, that’s exactly what I am.”
I’m a fucking hothead, and she makes it worse. Unintentionally and truly, unbeknownst to her, but worse, nonetheless. Guarantee we go on like this, there’ll be more men I come to blows with. No doubt about it, really. She makes me crazy, overly emotional, and that’s a lethal combination when your life is built around drunks.
No matter where I get in life, no matter what I achieve, I’ll never not be me.
Even if I could offer her a comfortable future in a nice home with nice things, she deserves more. She deserves a good man who can love her without the mess.
I am not that man. I will never be that man.
What I feel for her is messy and wild and strong; it’s a twister of emotions whirling around me, sucking the air from my lungs and the sanity from my mind.
I can’t be good or proper or rational. Not when it comes to her.
Davis
Crew’s frown is deep, and I hate that I said anything, but I know he won’t let it go, and truth be told, I can’t either. The thought alone has my emotions in overdrive, speaking the words out loud and fearing his response is too much for me to handle, especially at five a.m., when I slept maybe a total of two hours.
“She said she thought I would be uppity and judgmental. Why did she think that, Crew? I’ve never judged you, never looked down on you.” I shake my head. “Even right now with the fighting. I don’t care what happened to Jess, and maybe I should. Maybe I’m the one who is messed up because I don’t, but all I can think about is the police knocking the door down and taking you away. I’ll lose you again when I just got you back.” Crew’s brows clash, and I continue, “And I know I don’t have you, have you, and I stooped really, really low to have you back by bribing you into my life again, when you finally washed your hands of me. I know I screwed up your plans, but—”
“Yeah, you did,” he cuts me off, stalking toward me.
Tears pool in my eyes, my lower lip quivering.
“You fucked up all my plans,” he admits.
“I’m sorry.”
“You fucked up my world.”
“Okay, I get it.” Heat streams down my cheeks, and I look away.
“No. You don’t.” Heavy knuckles press along the underside of my chin, bringing my attention back to him as his dark eyes pierce mine. “You don’t get it, at fucking all.”
I suck in a shaky breath and wait.
“Everything I do,” he begins, crouching down a little. “Everything I’ve done, for as long as I can fucking remember, has been with you in mind. What will she think? How will she react?”
A small furrow builds across my forehead.
Crew’s hand opens, his palm replacing his knuckles on my cheek. “Could she ever want a low-class man like me? Could I ever be enough for the princess who grew to be a queen right before my eyes, when I’ll never be more than a hands’ man?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s the truth. I know what I am and I’m not going to stand here and pretend life is different. It’s not. I’m not. I can’t give you a white picket fence and I’ll never be sitting in a church on Sundays, like your parents did when you were little. I’ll probably be in the bar, trying to find a way to hide the smell of vomit and vodka. That stable, standard family shit isn’t me. It won’t be. Not ever.”