Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
She ponders this for a moment while she swings her legs back and forth in a childlike fashion before wincing.
I try to focus on her words and not the fact that she’s in pain, because it will only make me homicidal all over again.
“I don’t like people,” she says. “Or texting. Or foods that are orange. Black licorice. Television. Concerts. Restaurants. Clubs. Malls.”
She falls silent as I stare at her curiously.
The sad part is, she isn’t even joking.
“Did I mention people?” she adds.
“Twice,” I tell her. “But I’m the exception to that rule.”
“You can’t declare yourself an exception to a rule. The rule maker has to do that.”
“Scarlett.”
My voice is a warning, which she ignores.
“I’m just laying it out for you, Brodrick,” she says. “You think you’ll get me liquored up and I’ll ease up a little. But that’s not going to happen. What you see is what you get. Always. I’m incredibly dull and very blasé in regards to literally everything. So, you should just move on along now and save yourself the trouble of a failed attempt.”
“I did get loafed in the head tonight,” I tell her. “But I do recall you just asking me to have a go at ye not so long ago after I walked in the door.”
“Only because I had a moment where I wondered what it was like,” she says. “But the moment is gone now.”
“What do ye mean, what it was like?” I press.
“Just, you know.” She waves her hands about in an ambiguous fashion. “What fucking someone that didn’t repulse me was like.”
Scarlett is blunt. That’s one thing I’ve come to know about her since we met. Mack regaled me one night with countless admissions about her. How she is a genius with no filter and no social skills either. That she never fit in so she’s never bothered to try after that. But this admission catches me off guard.
The last thing I want to do is delve into who she was shacking up with before me. But now, I can’t stop myself from asking about it.
“You’ve never been with a man ye weren’t repulsed by?” I question her. “Really? What about your boyfriends?”
“Boyfriends?” she blinks. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Well, not since high school anyway.”
This time I’m officially stunned into silence. Which only seems to offend her more.
“Who needs a fucking boyfriend?” she huffs. “Relationships are just a headache. I’ve never understood why anyone would want to put themselves through such hell. And willingly too. I might be sadistic, but a masochist I am not.”
“Scarlett?”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking.”
She does. And I take a few moments to file her words away where I can stew on them later. But for now, I just need to get her out of the house before I fuck her into next week.
“Get ready,” I say.
“For?”
“I’m taking ye out tonight.”
Eight
Scarlett
If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then I must be headed straight for heaven.
There isn’t a single part of me that has ever felt bad for fucking over a man. Some say you’ve got to be cruel to be kind.
I say you’ve got to be cruel to survive.
I don’t owe anyone anything. Especially Rory.
But when I dart glances over at him, driving me through the streets of Boston like he actually gives a fuck, I want to go for a long run. Over a bed of Legos.
If I punish myself, then I feel better.
But I can’t punish myself, because I’m trapped in this car now and all I can smell is him. He’s clean, like the ocean. He’s cool and mint flavored and olive-skinned and his body is all Alpha, and I keep checking him out when I don’t mean to.
His body is hard, but he isn’t hard like me. He’s open. Lazily draping his hand over the wheel and leaning back in his seat, his tee shirt stretching across his chest. He’s a tee shirt and jeans guy. A dimples guy. A jokes guy. A punch-you-in-the-face on Thursday nights guy.
He’s too many things. Tall and casual and funny and green-eyed.
And I am only one thing and it’s not his girlfriend.
But it doesn’t matter.
I made up my mind, and I’m no quitter. I tried to warn him away, but if he isn’t smart enough to listen, I can’t take responsibility for that.
I’m a wrecking ball, and you don’t fuck with a wrecking ball.
He fucked with me and now he’s going to help me, and I’m going to use him, and in the end it will ruin him.
It wasn’t supposed to be this easy. And it’s only for Rory’s own good that I’m going to teach him this lesson. Because after everything I’ve already said and done to him, he shouldn’t trust me.
But he took me back into his life just like that.
And do you know what happens to people who give out second chances like Halloween candy? They get fucked over.