Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
But he knows. Somehow, though I don’t make a sound or move a muscle, he knows.
His strong arms snake around me, and he pulls me sideways into his lap in one smooth movement. I’m like a doll to him, but his touch is gentle as he swipes my tears away with his thumbs. “Why, Wren?” he whispers in a gruff voice.
This is not how this is happening. He wants to talk? Then he can talk. I’m not revealing myself to be told outright that I need to tone it down a notch. Instead, I go on the offensive. Wiggling violently, I push at his chest to put distance between us. “Stop manhandling me and demanding that I tell you things.” Climbing out of his lap to kneel on the blanket, I snap, “If I’d wanted to have this conversation, I would’ve bitched you out a year ago. But I’ve been doing really well at not telling you off like you deserve.”
At this point, I’m doing as much talking with my hands as I am my mouth, but at least I hold back from slapping him.
“Same!” he shouts back. “This has been a long time coming, so let’s do this. Go ahead and say that I’m shit who’s not worth your time and you were slumming it with me.” He moves to his knees, too, spreading them wide and getting even louder. “Go ahead, Wren. Do your worst. I fucking need it.” He grabs his shirt right over his heart, pulling at it with furor. “Maybe then I’ll finally find a way to not love you. Bitch me out with all you’ve got.”
How dare he? He treated me like an interchangeable hole to fuck, not using my name, leaving as soon as we were done, and going straight to another woman. I felt—no, I still feel—like I was simultaneously too much and not enough. And now I find out that he’s actively told people that I’m his, like I’m a thing he can put up on a shelf for later, when and if he decides he wants me.
Furious, I let loose. “Love me? Do you even know what that means?” I snort derisively.
“More,” he demands, waving his hands in a gimme motion before resting them back on his thighs. “More.” He’s snarling like I’m the one hurting him.
“This is not love.” I point from him to me. His lips twitch, not a smile but something bordering on it, and I reach a new level of rage that completely breaks down every filter I possess. “You called her baby barely thirty minutes after fucking me!” I scream, my voice cracking with emotion.
“What?” he asks, suddenly sounding stunned. “Who?”
His confusion only makes it worse. Laughing bitterly, I ask, “It happened so many times, you don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? Let me refresh your memory. Her name was Raelynn. Or at least the one I know about, but it sounds like there were more.” I narrow my eyes accusingly, though I admit, “That’s my bad. I knew who you were, I knew what we were, but to have it thrown in my face fucking hurt.”
“I have no clue who this Raelynn chick is, but you’re right about one thing. Who I am and who you are.” He acts like that makes sense, but it doesn’t. At all.
“Want me to remind you? That last night, after we—” I can’t say it, but he knows what I mean. “I asked if you wanted to get dinner again, and you went to play pool with the guys again, so I followed you. I know it’s stupid and childish, but I did. I saw you flirting with her, saw you two hug, and I heard her in the bathroom.” I throw my voice high, mimicking what I heard that night but adding my own sarcastic bend. “He’s so hot! He told me, ‘Good shot, baby!’ and I nearly spontaneously orgasmed right there. Oh, Jesse!” In my own voice, I spit out, “Fucking asshole.”
I flip around, sitting on my ass again with my legs askew, and feeling spent. I don’t do this much emotion in one fell swoop. I’m about control, planning, and cerebral endeavors. I was raised to smile while the world burned, never showing reactions. Certainly never this. Not violent, emotional dumping.
But here we are.
Jesse doesn’t move other than closing his eyes. In the moonlight, I can see the set of his jaw and the shallow rise and fall of his chest. And then his head dips. For a moment, I think it’s all sinking in for him as he remembers what I’m talking about.
Until he starts laughing mirthlessly.
His deep chuckles echo across the creek, disturbing the birds who’ve already bedded down in their nests for the night. They screech back, and Jesse looks up, and though I can see the brightness of his white teeth, it’s more of a snarl than a smile as he shakes his head. He runs his fingers through his hair and says, “You’re jealous? You? You’re jealous.” He sounds incredulous at the very idea, which, for the record, is completely reasonable even if we weren’t exclusive. Nobody wants to feel interchangeable or unvalued, and that’s exactly how I felt. A few more chuckles boom out, but these sound choked, almost emotional, and he looks up to the sky. “Fucking hell.”