Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Her eyes widen a bit, or maybe mine do, so I can see better. I jerk her against my body and plant a sloppy drunken kiss on her mouth; she responds with way too much enthusiasm and tastes like cigarettes.
I hate every minute of it, and if she shoves her tongue down my throat any further, I’m going to puke whiskey all over her.
I shove her away and laugh. She stumbles back and nearly lands on the drink table, grabs a pack of old-school cigarettes, attempts to grab one, and lights it with a blue lighter.
I think in her head, she thinks she looks cool; instead, she’s struggling to even get a flame.
I ignore her, wipe my mouth and turn.
MB’s right there.
“Oh, didn’t see you.” Quinn’s close behind her watching us. The hurt on her face makes me feel a bit more sober as she sidesteps me. “Where you going?”
“To change,” she says in a clipped voice. “Apparently, I’m nipping out after my foster brother thought it would be funny to kiss me and then push me into the pool.”
“You forget you kissed me back.” I look around her. “Right, Quinn?”
“Isn’t that incest?” He frowns. “Asking for a friend.”
I roll my eyes.
MB shoves past me and goes into the house.
I glare at Quinn, then turn and follow her inside. I’m chasing after her, then curse when she nearly takes off my nose after slamming her bedroom door in my face.
I open it despite her anger.
She’s standing there with that t-shirt covering her, hair still wet, lips full.
She’s beautiful.
I hate her.
I scowl. “You forget this is my house now.”
“You’re the one that said to change earlier, which I did, and you’re the one who was just disgusted that I was wet.”
I smirk. “I’m never disgusted when you’re wet, only if it’s me—“
“—Do not finish that sentence.” She warns, crossing her arms.
I approach, taking one step, two, and then we’re facing off yet again.
“It’s like you’re begging me to choke you.” She hisses.
“It’s like you want a little violence with your…” I tug at her hair. “Dampness.” I look down her body. “Or should we say wetness?”
I know I’m being mean. I know I’m hitting close to home here, but I can’t stop the words coming out of my mouth… even if I wanted to.
She bats my hand away. “I’m not yours, Ambrose.”
“Yeah.” I step back. “You’ll always be mine, and you know it.” I look over at her closet. “Wear something that covers up your ass and tits this time.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll assume it’s an invitation, and so will every other prick at this party. You wouldn’t really want that sort of rumor spreading, right? Kisses foster brother, moves onto Quinn, displays her best assets because that’s all she really has going for her?”
“I hate you!” Her lower lip trembles.
And I break her down more and more because it feels like vengeance. It feels like love when it’s the opposite. It feels real and raw.
And then I realize it’s because I’m actually feeling, and I haven’t felt since the night my dad died.
I’ll keep pushing her as long as she pushes back.
Maybe one day I’ll be the one that gets pushed so far I go off the cliff.
Maybe she’ll be the one to end my misery and loneliness with her hate.
Cheers.
Chapter Nineteen
Mary-Belle
I don’t want to go back to the party, but I want to piss Ambrose off even more, and I can’t be found guilty of his murder if he does something stupid or, as I said before, drowns in a pool of his own vomit with only me as a witness.
I put on a pair of short designer jean shorts, a white crop top and add some slides, I was tempted to actually put on another dress, but I’m too tired. I pull my wet hair back in a scrunchy, make my way down the stairs, and nearly collide with Xander once I’m in the kitchen.
It’s just us; everyone else is either swimming or outside drunkenly dancing.
Xander has really blue eyes and looks off—like he is clearly high on something. His blonde hair is tucked under a black Supreme beanie.
“Oh, sorry.” I smile and sidestep him so I can go outside.
He grabs me by the elbow and jerks me against his massive body. He’s easily like six foot three. “Don’t be. Maybe I want you to run into my dick.”
“Huh?” I pry myself away only to have his hands come to my hips. I stumble against him. Gross. I don’t want to be drunkenly groped in my own home. I wonder when I even started thinking about it as my home.
Maybe when I had no choice.
Or maybe when Ambrose said it was.
“Knew it,” Xander says. He’s beautiful in an I probably got into Harvard already way. But I don’t like him; I don’t want him kissing me or touching me, and I’m suddenly transported back to all the foster homes.