Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
His hands tighten around my waist to stop my movements. “So we can sit.”
“But did you hear what I said? I think we should —”
“And talk.”
That settles me down some and I give him a thankful smile. Which he responds to by glancing down at my lips and flexing his fingers on my waist as if he can’t bear it, my smile.
In a good way I mean.
But getting serious, I slide back on his thighs and sit up straight, folding my hands on my lap and hoping to portray that I mean business. But just as I open my mouth to talk, he jerks me forward so all sense of business is gone and I go flush with his body, my hands coming to fist his t-shirt on his shoulders.
Frowning, I look up. “I was going to talk.”
Frowning as well, he growls, “So talk.” Then, “From here.”
I want to keep frowning at him but I have to admit that was sweet.
In a very caveman-ish way.
Losing my frown and resting my chin on his chest, I say, “I don’t like this.”
“What?”
“This, Alaric. It’s Saturday.”
“So?”
“So it’s the weekend. You’re supposed to take some time off. You’re supposed to unwind. Instead you were working all day and you didn’t even eat.”
He watches me for a beat or two. “I had work to do and I wasn’t hungry.”
I shoot up and away from him then. “Are you serious?”
This pisses him off; I can see that.
His features that were all relaxed tighten up and he clenches his jaw. “Poe, let it go.”
Frowning, I tighten my fists on his shirt. “No, I won’t let it go. I wanna talk about it. You didn’t let me talk about your punching thingy back in your office that day either. You have issues, Alaric. You have anger issues. You have control issues. And I wanna talk about them. I wanna talk about how you’re always working. You’re always doing things, attending meetings and conferences and —”
“That’s my fucking job.”
“Yes, it is, but you don’t need to run yourself ragged like this.”
“I’m not running myself ragged.”
“You are. You do so many things and —”
“Poe.”
“No, Alaric. Some of these things you don’t even like. Mo told me, okay? She said that you were missing lectures this summer at your college because you are handling things at St. Mary’s. But you love teaching. And she told me that the only reason you’re doing this is because this is something your father would have —”
“Mo doesn’t know anything.”
“But —”
“And how about you come to me next time. If you want to dig up information on what I like or don’t like.”
I watch him for a moment or two. Then, “Do you love teaching?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love working on your papers and conferences?”
“Yes.”
“And what about being the principal of a reform school. Do you like that too?”
His eyes narrow. “No.”
“See?” I throw my hands up. “Then why do you do it?”
“Because it’s a responsibility and I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“But —”
“And fine. I’ll eat that fucking piece of cherry pie,” he snaps. “Is that enough for you or would you like me to go take a nap too?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That was mean.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
I study his unrelenting features, all tight and sharp.
The stubborn jut of his chin, the frown between his brows, the irritation in his eyes. He’s obviously not a fan of this topic. He’s obviously not going to listen to me. So I really have no idea what I’m supposed to do. And I also don’t know how I’m supposed to let it go either.
Especially after everything that I know, that Mo told me that night. About his work. About how he lives in the town where he was hated.
How am I supposed to make him understand that he doesn’t need to live like this? That he doesn’t need to do the things that he doesn’t like out of obligation, out of an extreme sense of responsibility.
Or out of whatever screwed-up reason he’s thought of in his head.
“This isn’t fair, you know,” I tell him, swallowing. “That you keep taking care of me and you won’t let me do the same.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me.”
He does.
He so does.
And I don’t know how to convince him so maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just do it without telling him.
Maybe I’ll just take care of him in whatever little ways I can. Pamper him and spoil him and make him feel special.
“Is that your final decision?”
His body shudders with a breath. “Yeah.”
My heart twists but I nod. “Okay.”
And maybe he can see that. The pain he’s causing me by saying no, and maybe it causes him pain as well, like he told me, because he jerks me closer and covers my mouth with his. He kisses me as if to soothe the sting, and I kiss him back because I want to do the same.