Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“It’s true,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll wind up as lonely as he is.”
That’s not a thing that mothers are supposed to wish for their sons. Then again, when has this woman ever been a mother to me? But even knowing that, a wave of sorrow crests over me just the same. This is really it, then. The last conversation we’ll share. I ought to feel relieved, but I’m gutted instead.
Sucking in a breath, I take a step back toward the door. As I turn around, I don’t miss the sight of faces in the window. People are watching my mother cast me out of her life, like they’d watch a fight at the hockey game.
I open the door and step inside. Without another word to the woman who gave birth to me, I close the door again and lock it. Then I bolt up the stairs—all of them—and escape to my room.
The shower waits for me. I turn the taps to a scalding temperature and shed my clothes.
Too bad shame doesn’t wash off.
“Bailey.”
Keaton’s gruff voice reaches me as I pull on a clean T-shirt. He’s in the doorway, concern written all over his handsome face.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Does it matter?” The whole frat just witnessed my twenty-four-hour lifesplosion. I’m basically numb by now.
He steps forward, as if to hug me. But I just can’t right now. I take an awkward step to the side and bend over my desk, rifling through my papers. “How much did the lawyer cost? I need to set up a payment plan with your dad.”
“There won’t be any payment plan,” he says, letting his irritation out.
“Yeah, there will be. I don’t want your dad rescuing me. I don’t want anyone rescuing me.”
“Even me?”
“Especially you. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours ago when I pointed out to you that Alpha Delt would hate this.” I make a motion between his body and mine. “I guess I called that one.”
“They don’t matter,” he says quickly.
“At all?”
He swallows hard. “Whatever. I don’t care.”
“But maybe I do.”
“You do not,” he spits. “That’s a cop-out. You’re just looking for an excuse not to step out of your comfort zone! Shit got ugly and you bailed on me again.”
“How is this a surprise to you? I don’t like to owe people. You know this. I hate feeling like an ungrateful little bitch.”
“So don’t be one!” he roars. “And I’m not talking about money. That’s beyond your control. When it comes to love, you’re a fucking miser. Like it would kill you to admit that you care.”
It would kill me, though. Because when I look at Keaton Hayworth III, I see the kind of man who can never be mine. Whatever he thinks he sees in me will eventually get old. One day soon he’ll wake up and wonder what the hell he’s doing with a punk who nobody else ever bothered to love. His obsession will fade. Maybe it’s because he gets sick of my bullshit. Or maybe another, badder bad boy catches his eye.
Either way, we were never going to last. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
“It was just a hookup, Keaton,” I say quietly.
“It wasn’t.”
“Yeah? When did you change the rules? Is this like the election all over again? You bend the regulations, and I fall in line?”
His neck gets instantly red. “You don’t get to keep throwing that mistake in my face!”
“You make a lot of mistakes, apparently. I was the biggest one. Ask anyone downstairs. Go on.”
He blinks, his eyes red. Then he lifts his aristocratic chin a couple of degrees. And he leaves my room.
As Thick as Your Hand
Keaton
Another Sunday. Another brunch with Dad.
Except nothing at all is the same. I’ve just had the loneliest two weeks of my life, and I don’t know where I’ll find the energy to make nice with my dad.
This time I’ve changed the venue. I had to get out of the Alpha Delt house. So when classes ended on Friday, I got into my car and drove down to New York for the weekend.
But, shit, even driving down 95 made me think of my outing with Luke. The last weekend I got away from school was so amazing.
This time there’s no sexfest and no drunken kisses. I crash at my father’s tiny midtown condo for the weekend. It’s where he sleeps when he doesn’t want to go back to Long Island after late nights at work.
On Sunday morning I walk all the way from Midtown to the Upper West Side. Our plan is to have Sunday brunch at Good Enough to Eat. The Hayworths know how to party. And this place has slices of bacon as thick as your hand. It’s almost good enough to cure my heartache.
Almost.
Two long weeks have passed since Luke’s arrest, and he’s still not really talking to me. Or sleeping with me. Or even looking me in the eye.