Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“Pressie!” A small body slams into my leg, and she wraps her tiny fingers around my knee. “You gotta see my new moves.”
Relief rushes through my obstructed throat, and I think Marcus sees whatever spooked expression I’m wearing as he stands in front of me, his inquisitive gaze watching me closely.
But then he swiftly stares to his right and smiles. “Hi, Dahlia.”
Her brow furrows. “And what are you doing here?”
“Skating.” He looks around. “Isn’t that what this is for?”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t normally come to a place like this.”
“I do now,” he says, stealing a glance at me, and I swallow thickly.
“You’re so pretty!” Miley says. “Are you Pressie’s friend?”
“Don’t downgrade me, Mimi, I’m not Darcy’s friend,” I mutter.
“It’s Dahlia.” She glares at me, and Marcus suppresses a smile. The prick is enjoying this a bit too much.
Dana grins as she lowers herself to Miley’s eye level. “Thank you. You’re so pretty yourself. I love the wings.”
“I’m a princess!” She skates toward her and twirls. “My name is Miley.”
“Nice to meet you, Miley. I’m Dahlia.”
“Like the flowers?”
“That’s right.”
“Leave,” I mouth as Marcus continues staring at me during the entire conversation, his cryptic eyes drilling holes into my body.
As if…he can read me.
Bullshit. No one can. Not even my brain or Dr. Duret, who’s been with me almost my whole life, can do that.
“Are you here on your own, Dahlia?” he asks her as she stands up.
“No, I’m meeting Kane.”
“And here I thought we could ignite the old spark.” He grabs his chest, feigning being stabbed in the heart.
Is this motherfucking piece of shit tired of living?
I must be shooting lasers from my eyes, because Delta swallows thickly and even skates back a little.
Good. At least someone around here is scared of me.
She clears her throat. “What on earth are you talking about? There was no spark.”
“No?” He taps his forefinger against his chin. “Pretty sure we had lots of fun.”
“We only went out for, like, two weeks.”
“Two weeks is enough,” he says so casually, and I’m about to ram my fist into his face.
How dare he talk like that about his goddamn ex in front of me?
Destiny’s frown deepens more by the second. “Enough for what?”
“Enough to erase someone.” I plaster on a threatening smile. “Actually, two days would do.”
Marcus’s lips pull in that cruel smirk. “You’d erase me?”
“I’d fucking bury you alive.”
“Will you now?”
“Hey,” Danika says in a placating tone, then whispers, “there’s a kid here. Can you guys save this testosterone battle till later?”
“There’s no later, though, is there?” Marcus ruffles Miley’s hair. “See you around, princess.”
She lights up. “See you! I’ll teach you lots of stuff next time.”
He smiles once more at her, then spins around and leaves.
His shoulders look broader than usual as he skates away, mixing with the other skaters. He doesn’t look back, not even once.
And I don’t know why I keep staring, expecting he will.
Hoping he will.
“Well, that was weird,” Daria says, but I’m barely hearing her because I’m focused on Marcus.
His large body disappears in the crowd way too soon.
What the hell have I said now?
Threatened him, the voice in my head whispers.
But I do that all the time. The fuck? Since when did he become such a snowflake?
“Hey, Pressie.” Miley pulls on my jeans.
“Yeah?” I look down at her, still distracted.
“Can I marry him?”
“Hell no,” I growl as Demi bursts out laughing.
Yeah, laugh away. My life is a joke, apparently.
The guy I can’t seem to stay away from is giving me mixed signals, and my seven-year-old sister apparently wants to marry the motherfucker.
Kill me.
24
MARCUS
Iwave goodbye at the rest of the team in the arena’s parking lot.
We have an important game tomorrow, and even though we had extensive training this morning, I wanted to do some light training this evening.
I need them in top shape for the game, and I won’t be tolerating any mistakes. We’ve managed to get to the top, tying with the Vipers, and I won’t allow them to take our championship.
The rain soaks through my jacket in seconds as I hop on my bike, my duffle bag strapped across my chest.
I’ll have to text the team and ensure they’re resting for the night and not going anywhere near a bar. They usually wouldn’t, and Richardson, who shares a dorm room with two of our other starters, said he’ll make sure they’re staying out of trouble.
But I don’t like delegating my responsibilities to others, so they’ll all be hearing from me later.
Some would call it control-freak tendencies, and it probably is. I’ve just never been satisfied with mediocracy, half-assed attempts, and unfinished business.
Instead of heading straight home, I go for a ride.
There’s something about being drenched by the rain as the bike flashes through the night like a bullet.
I know some of my bike club companions don’t like riding in the rain, but it’s one of my favorite times. The droplets of water on my helmet, the screech of the tires in the puddles.