Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
That wasn’t something I’d do so easily without alcohol in me. Henry glanced up, surprised but not bothered, his eyes looking particularly big underneath his thick lashes.
“Okay, well then, let’s swap parents,” I said, getting back to the conversation. “I’ll gladly take your mom over mine.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. The queen wants nothing to do with me,” he said. “She’d kick my ass out of the castle on day one.”
I giggled. “Probably true. Half the time she wants to kick my ass out, too.”
I could feel the alcohol in my blood, and it felt so much nicer than I could have expected. I wasn’t even worried about the fact that I was sneaking out of my house, even if I hadn’t gone very far.
In fact, all I wanted to do right now was stare at Henry’s face. The small cluster of light freckles he had on the side of his cheek stood out to me even in the dark. I wanted to reach out and brush my fingertips over them, but I’d already touched him too much tonight.
I had always loved Henry, but it had only become more apparent in the last couple of years how much I loved him.
When Henry had told me he was gay, almost exactly a year ago, right before the holidays, my heart had jumped up and lodged itself in my throat.
I had always been so afraid of how attracted I had been to other boys. Henry specifically. I had never told a soul on earth that I liked other guys.
And I had never in a million years expected Henry, Henry of all people, to come out and tell me he liked boys, too. I was the first person he had ever told, which I held in my heart like a warm secret. Of course, a few months after, he ended up saying fuck it, in usual Henry fashion, and coming out to the entire village.
Now everybody in Berrydale knew he was gay, and Henry was proud.
Nobody knew about me, of course.
It was another example of Henry’s boundless confidence. Another reason to love him way, way too much.
“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” he said suddenly, a lazy smile on his face as he gave me a shove.
“What?” I said. I’d been in a daze for who knew how long. “I’m not even doing anything. I’m just sitting here.”
“Yeah, but like… usually you’d be sitting there bouncing your leg or tapping your foot and checking on the cottage every two seconds because you’d be so scared you were out past your bedtime,” he said. “But tonight you’re just being a weirdo and looking at my hair instead.”
“I’m not being a weirdo.”
“I like it, Sebastian.”
“Please.”
“It’s adorable. You’re adorable.”
“I am not,” I said. My cheeks were burning.
“You jealous of my luscious locks, Sebastian?” he asked in a singsong voice, standing up and doing a little twirl, shaking his head. It had started to snow, the flakes disappearing as soon as they touched his hair.
“Your hair is... nice,” I said.
It’s perfect, I thought.
“Yours is better anyway,” he said, taking a step forward and reaching out, running his fingers through my hair at the side of my head. A rush of goosebumps passed over me, just from his touch. He looked down at me, examining me the same way my mother would examine an expensive piece of art.
I could have melted into the damn ground, feeling his eyes on me like that.
The snow started falling a little more heavily, falling all around him.
“It’s hair,” I said. “Nothing special about mine.”
His eyes scanned over me, in a way that felt so familiar and comfortable yet also made every cell of my body go on high alert.
“But I wish my hair was all dark like yours,” he said. “Makes you seem mysterious. You look the part of a prince.”
“A shitty prince,” I mumbled.
“Prince Sebastian Nigel Fairleigh Ambrose, Prince of Frostmonte, heir to the throne of Frostmonte Castle,” Henry said in a stilted, stuck-up accent, bending a knee in front of me and dropping his head. “I am your lowly peasant Henry Denton, at your service, my prince.”
“Fuck off,” I said, gently kicking his knee with the side of my boot.
I hated when he teased me about being a prince. The title always felt strange and foreign to me, like I was wearing clothes far too big for me. Clothes that would never fit.
“God, I like drunk you,” he said, standing up again. “You should tell me to fuck off more often. It gets my blood pumping.”
He ruffled my hair again with his fingers, which may as well have killed me.
My heart ached like it had a ten-ton truck on top of it. I wanted to reach out and pull him in close. I wanted to tear all his clothes off. I wanted to do so many inappropriate things to him with my tongue.