Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
There. I’ve inched closer to that awful truth too. I’ve breathed his name out loud to Nick.
His eyes fill with sorrow. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. And you absolutely don’t have to justify your family to me.”
“But I feel like I do,” I say, and my voice is pitchy and it’s irritating me. It must irritate him. “I don’t want you to see me that way,” I say, desperation twisting up inside me like a coiled snake. I point at all these things. “I have this car, and this free home, and a house in the Hamptons, and even though I pay my own way with my app and my videos, I don’t really because I don’t pay rent. And you must think I sound like all the people who looked down on you when you worked at the country club.”
“I don’t think that,” he says, insistent. “How could I?”
“How could you not?” I ask, backing up against the railing on the first step, because I just can’t tempt myself with closeness.
But he lets go of the railing, moves closer to me, sets a gentle hand on my cheek. “I don’t hate money. I don’t hate people who have money. I only hate the way it changes people,” he says, and his warm voice is so kind, I want to wrap myself in it all night long.
All week.
All month.
But that’s pointless.
I don’t even know why I’m trying to prove myself to him. We can’t be together. We can’t be a thing. We are just two people who can’t stand next to each other on the street because we’re too forbidden. But the prospect of him walking away tonight and thinking for even a second that I’d have said those things to him that others did, that I’d have treated him like he wasn’t good enough, rips me apart. “Just because my mom wants certain things for me,” I begin, the words catching in my throat, stirring up emotions I don’t want to fully face—her wants, her wishes, her future dreams. “That doesn’t mean I’m like that,” I add. “I’m not looking for a rich guy. I’m not looking for a name, or a pedigree, or an Ivy diploma. I’m not looking for anyone.”
At least, I wasn’t.
Then I got to know him. And the desire to touch him turned into the desire to know him. And for him to know me.
So I stop before I reveal too much. But then, screw it. Tonight is for revelation. “I’ve already met the only man who interests me, but I can’t be with him,” I say, laying out my heart. “You, Nick.”
His expression darkens with dashed hope. “Same here,” he says, regretfully.
“So I don’t want you to think of me like those jerks in your past. Okay? I just don’t. I’m not like that.”
With surprising tenderness, he leans in and presses his forehead to mine, in spite of the risks. “I know, beautiful. I know who you are,” he adds softly, and I’m dying to rope my hands around his neck and kiss him passionately right here.
Instead, I grab the railing behind me, like he did before.
He must sense the tension in me, and how hard this is, since he backs away, resignation in those haunting hazel eyes. “If I stay here any longer, I won’t leave. I’ll toss you over my shoulder and kick down the door, then spend the night showing you exactly what I think of you,” he says with both heat and affection.
I manage a smile, a small thanks for that sexy and warm sentiment. “I wish you could.”
“I wish I could too,” he says, in a sad whisper. Then he shakes his head, huffs out a breath. “I should get going.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you…around.”
I swipe a hand across my cheek, then nod as resolute as I can. “See you—”
But I swallow the word when I hear a familiar voice call out: “Layla!”
I snap to attention at the sound of Raven. Her voice is coming from behind me but crawling up my spine.
This is not how I should feel about a friend.
Putting on a false face, I turn around to see my business school colleague staring curiously at me, then at Nick.
Did she see Nick’s forehead touching mine?
Did she hear his sweet nothings?
Or my confessions?
My stomach twists. “Hi, Raven,” I say brightly, way more cheerfully than I normally would. “What are you up to?”
She swings a purple boho purse over her shoulder. “Just finished a date. It wasn’t too bad. And you?”
She looks at Nick, and my neck goes hot.
The implication. Dear god, the implication.
But I’ll have to squash it with a lie.
“We were just picking some things up for the auction,” I say, trying but likely failing to mask how uncomfortable I feel.