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)
“You came here looking for me?” he asks me with a cockiness that reminds me of a boy I once knew and again, for the second time, my confidence is shaken. As I lick my lower lip to respond, I fail to find the words.
“Do I intimidate you, Addison?” he asks in a teasing voice and I roll my eyes and then lift the beer to my lips. I assume he’ll say something else as I drink, but he doesn’t.
As I set the glass down, I look him in the eyes. “You know you do and I hate it.” There’s a heat between us that ignites in an instant. As if a drop of truth could set fire to us both. I can barely breathe looking into his dark eyes.
“Do you now?” he asks again in that same playful tone. “So you came here looking for me because you hate me?”
“Yes,” I answer him without hesitation, although it’s not quite truthful. That’s not why, but I’m fine with him thinking that.
His brow raises slightly and he tilts his head as if he wasn’t expecting that answer. Slowly he corrects it, and I can feel his guard slowly climb up. It’s this thing he always did. It’s odd how I remember it so well. For only moments, only glimpses, I swear he let me in. But just like that it was gone, and a distance grew between us, even if we hadn’t moved an inch.
“Don’t do that,” I tell him as soon as I sense it and his eyes narrow at me. “I don’t hate you. I hate that you were rude to me.”
“I wasn’t rude.”
“You were a dick.” My words come out with an edge that can’t be denied and I wish I could swallow them back down.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me and he looks apprehensive. It’s weird hearing him say those words. I can’t think of him ever speaking them to anyone before. “You came looking for an apology?”
“No, not really,” I tell him and shrug, wanting to take a step back from the tense air, but my ass is firmly planted on this stool. He turns to his left and I look back at the glass while I continue, just wanting to get it out of me before he’s gone again.
“I just wanted to talk.” The words finally come out, although they’re not quite right. I want to spill every word that’s inside of me. From the last night I saw him all those years ago, to everything that’s happened up until this moment. There aren’t a lot of people who can relate to what we’ve gone through.
He still hasn’t said a word. His gaze is focused on me as if he’s trying to read me, but can’t make out what’s written. If only he’d ask, I’d tell him. I don’t have time for games or secrets, and our history makes up too much of who I am to disrespect it with falsehoods.
“Are you going to run off again?” I ask as he only stares back at me.
“Do you want me to?” he asks me in return.
“No,” I answer instantly and a little too loud. As if what he’d said was a threat. I’m quieter as I add, “I don’t want you to go.” The desperation in my voice is markedly apparent.
“Well what do you want then?” he asks me and I know the answer. I want him. I take in a breath slowly, knowing the truth but also knowing I’d never confess it.
“I haven’t been able to sleep since the other night,” I confess and my gaze flickers from the glass to his eyes. My nail taps on the glass again and again and the small tinkling persuades me to continue. “I had a rough time for a while, but I was doing really well until I saw you.” I don’t glance up to see how he reacts; I’m merely grateful the words are finally coming to me. “When you didn’t even bother to look at me, much less talk to me …” I swallow thickly and then throw back more of the beer.
“It was a shock to see you.” Daniel says the words as if he’s testing them on his tongue. Like they aren’t the truth, although I’m sure they are. I look into his eyes as he says, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“What did you mean then?” I ask him without wasting a second.
He hesitates again, careful to say just what he wants. “I didn’t know what to say, so I left.”
“That seems reasonable.” Or at least that seems like the version of Daniel I remember. I take another sip of beer before I say, “It hurt though.”
“I already said I was sorry.” His words are short, harsh even, but they don’t faze me.
“I wasn’t looking for an apology. I only wanted you to know how you make me feel.”