Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I push his hand from my throat, not wanting him to have any semblance of control over what I’m going to say next, totally as my damn self. “How’s about you let me make my own decisions—good, bad, or otherwise—and stop trying to make them for me? How about that, hmm?” He’s close enough that I could kiss him, but instead of finding his lips, I intentionally aim for his nose, placing the softest boop of a kiss there. It’s teasing, lighter than the dark, heavy place he’s trying to take this to, which is why I do it, secretly afraid he might be right about the whole bad-decision thing.
He is my brother’s best friend. And doesn’t exactly have a history of treating me well, so that’s not gonna go over easily. Not with Dominic, but more importantly, not with me. He’s got some ’splaining to do.
He crinkles his nose, then swipes a finger across the tip.
“Are you wiping off my kiss or rubbing it in? Answer carefully.”
His answering glare is all too familiar. I can feel the judgment, the accusation, the virtual name-calling—bratty, annoying, unwanted. I’ve felt and heard it too many times, basically every time we’re in the same room.
“You always act like you don’t want me around, but then you recite exactly what I was wearing the day we met. Those are some serious contradictions. Care to explain?”
“Not particularly.” His eyes drift to the side like he’s trying to avoid a conversation that I suspect is getting too close to the danger zone in his mind. His stupidly, sweetly, messed-up mind.
But I have a trick up my own sleeve. Or at least an idea of one. I grab his jaw in my hand, turning his face back to mine. His nostrils flare, and I know I’ve got him. “Explain it anyway. For me.”
“Fuck.”
He lifts me, dropping me back on the couch before getting up. Pacing across the living room, he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. Looking everywhere but at me, he mumbles, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Do you hate me as much as you act like you do? It’s a simple yes-or-no question.”
His laugh is a bitter, mirthless huff. “That is not simple.”
Staring at his back as he makes another lap across the floor, I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I sure as shit don’t ask again. Because while not a yes or no, his answer is crystal clear.
I thought I knew who Griffin Mahoney is, but I don’t think I know at all. The image I’ve had of him is the man he wanted me to see, but I suspect the real Griffin Mahoney is an entirely different man, one I could like. But I’m not going to beg him to want me, to like me, and definitely not force him to admit to the barest minimum of non-hate. I have some pride. Or I did before it took that nuclear missile–level hit right to target center.
“I think you might’ve been right earlier. We should’ve pretended the kiss never happened. Then whatever this was wouldn’t have happened. It’s not too late, though. We can still course correct. Let’s just pretend it was a little oopsie, like you fell dick first into me and we accidentally ended up puzzle-pieced together. Whoops!” Getting up from the couch, I reach for my shoes, slipping them on as quickly as possible. “It’ll make family dinners awkward as hell, but that won’t even be that different. You can do your customary frowny-face thing like you wish I wasn’t there, and I’ll annoy you by breathing wrong or whatever it is I do that bothers you.”
I want him to stop me. Deep down, I know that’s what I’m hoping for. It’d be a sign that I haven’t totally fucked up my life in a newly spectacular way. But he doesn’t.
I get all the way to the door before he says a word.
“I won’t let dinners be uncomfortable for you.”
Yeah, as if that’s the major issue here. Not the rest of this whole debacle.
And to think, just this morning, my biggest problem was a damn ring. Now? I’ve managed to implode my whole life with what amounts to be both the best and worst sex I’ve ever had. How ridiculous is that?
I know everything happens for a reason, but c’mon, universe . . . what the fuck?
Glancing over my shoulder, I snipe, “How are you gonna do that? Your usual glare-and-growl show over Mom’s infamous spaghetti and meatballs isn’t gonna cut it when you’ve been guts deep inside me.”
“Goddamn it, Penny! Fine, then I won’t go anymore. Is that what you want?” he shouts, his hands thrown up in what looks like exasperated surrender.
I whirl, feet planted and arms crossed over my chest, doing my best Griffin impersonation and not answering the question.