Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
ALLISON
“You know I’m no good, right?” I can’t help but ask him as we sit next to each other in the diner. In the back of my head, I can hear myself saying he’s no good for me too. But it’s so quiet. The hum of something else has taken over. He gives me a fuzzy feeling. One I haven’t felt in a long time. One that makes me want more than what I’d planned.
The food’s half-gone on my plate. Just chicken tenders and fries. You can’t go wrong with that. Dean’s finished his burger and is working through the pile of fries left on his plate. A pair of Cokes top off the meal.
He huffs like it’s a joke and doesn’t answer me, reaching for his drink instead. I find it fascinating watching him. He’s different. A kind of different I like.
He makes me feel safe and wanted. It’s foolish, but I want that. I want him. All of him. And that’s something I’ve never wanted before.
“I think this weekend I’m going away. I don’t have to worry about you running off, do I?” he asks me.
“You probably should,” I say as a joke. Judging by the expression on his face, he doesn’t like my answer. “Where are you going?” I ask to change the subject. I like his smile the best. My skin pricks at the realization. Knowing that my own happiness is somehow attached to someone else’s. I don’t care for it because people come and go. They leave you, disappoint you. They die.
And then you’re left all alone.
“To Brunswick. I think,” he says.
“You think?” I ask him playfully, but my heart hurts. My mother’s in Brunswick. All of it happened in Brunswick. I hate Brunswick.
“I haven’t decided if I’m going yet.”
I let out a small chuckle; it’s more a breath of a laugh. “I swear I won’t run off, so you can go,” I tell him.
“I just wanted to hear you say it. Right now, you’re mine. We don’t need labels, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let you think I’m fine with you fucking someone else.” His words are hard and brutish. Almost like a slap in my face.
“What if I want to?” I ask him, and he looks me square in the eyes.
“Do you?”
No, I don’t. I hesitate, and my heart seems to struggle with each second. I can’t do this to him.
“I guess not. You fuck well enough,” I say and stuff a fry into my mouth, hating how much it hurts me to play it off.
“I’m serious, Allie,” he says and his voice is hard, with no room for negotiation. “I don’t want to think about you just up and leaving.”
“I don’t even know you,” I answer in jest, but all humor leaves me when I see the look in his eyes. They’re dark, piercing. Possessive.
“Yeah, you do. You know enough.” He lets out a heavy breath, pushing his plate away. “I’m telling you I want you and I don’t want you running around on me. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I think I like that,” I say, mesmerized by how easily he admitted that. How easily he made himself vulnerable. I really like it. “I want that too.”
“You want me?” he asks with the hint of a smile and I nod, then say, “Yeah, I want you.”
“Only me?” he asks, cocking a brow.
“Sure, for now,” I answer him with a flirtation I think he likes.
The smile on my face only grows, as does his. That’s the thing about him that’s addictive. The pain vanishes when he smiles.
It’s quiet for a minute. A long minute and I don’t like the tension, but I’m the one who caused it to begin with. A dull ache pulses between my legs as I lean closer to him and cross them.
“You did a number on me,” I whisper and brush my cheek against his arm. My fingers play around his large wrist for a moment, just to feel him.
He’s so close, only inches away since we’re sitting on the same side of the booth. I guess he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to take off again. Smart of him.
“Is that right?” he says, putting down his drink so he can rest his hand on my thigh. We both watch as he rubs it with his thumb in slow, soothing circles. “How’s your shoulder?” he asks me, and it takes a second to register.
Reaching up with my hand to push the fabric aside, I take a look and let out a small laugh. “I match you now,” I tell him.
He brushes my hand away and gently soothes the scrape. I can hardly feel it; I barely feel anything but exhaustion at the moment.
“It’s nothing,” I tell him and he glances at me, but then back at my shoulder.