Read Online Everly After by Rebecca Paula - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rebecca Paula
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don’t like the way she trusts me so blindly right now. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth because it’s the same attitude that landed her here in my bathroom, half dressed with a gash in her head.
Before she leaves my flat, I’m going to have a list a fucking mile long of all the things that piss me off about Everly.
She grimaces as I wipe away more blood, and our eyes connect. “Sorry,” I say.
“It’s fine.”
I make a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat and keep cleaning up her face until I’m certain it won’t get infected when I close the gash up.
“Are you a nurse?” she asks, attempting to be cheeky.
“No.”
“I bet you’d look good in the uniform.” She sighs again before adding, “I was just trying to make you laugh. You look so serious right now.”
I crack a smile, but I’m annoyed. I can’t figure her out. She’s sun and shadow, evasive and familiar all at once. “I’m a journalist,” I confess.
Was a journalist.
I didn’t want to tell her because of what she’s doing now—drawing back, stiffening up. “A war correspondent,” I clarify and stop there. She doesn’t need to know the rest, and that’s the last fucking thing I want to think about right now.
Her fingers tug and twist in my shirt in anxious fists. “Do you know who I am?”
Everly Tallis Monteith—heiress to an oil fortune, socialite, accident waiting to happen.
I nod. I don’t really care, but I guess she thinks it’ll change everything. Everything? It’s nothing. It’s nothing, right?
“Breathe, Everly.”
She looks up at me, her blue eyes still bloodshot. They must be gorgeous when they’re clear. I bet they’re dark and deep, exactly like Everly.
“You know all about me, I bet.”
“Nadine told me.” I lean over to throw the alcohol wipe in the trash, careful not to back away so she can’t stand up and dash out. I can sense the tension in her limbs without even touching her. “I know nothing about you.”
She’s quiet again, so I rip open the liquid stitches packet with my teeth and push the raw skin of her gash together. Carefully, I lay the seal and keep my fingers there, softly blowing over her wound while it sets. Her pulse is racing beneath my fingertips. If my touch hurts, she gives no hint that she’s in pain.
I feel her studying me again and keep my eyes focused on the drying glue. “I’ll leave it to you, Everly. To tell me who you are. I don’t care about the stories.”
My fingers slip down her face tenderly, as if my touch can soak up the bruised skin and make it disappear, make her whole. I can’t, though, so I swallow and tip her chin up so we’re looking at each other. I mean to say something, to tell her she can go and to be careful, but the words stick in my dry throat. My eyes are pinned on my thumb running over her full, bottom lip.
“Are you going to kiss me now, Beckett?”
Yes.
My palms start to sweat, but we both don’t move away. “Do you want me to?”
I feel her answer under my thumb—the small twitch of her lips, the way they part slightly and she holds her breath. It roots me to the floor, and I can’t stop watching her, feeling her spiraling around me until I’m caught up in the idea of what it would be like to kiss Everly.
“I think you’re set,” I say instead, like a total coward. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”
She lies to me again without words. It’s that damn smile of hers that spreads across her lips and erases the bad that’s happened, brushing it away as if it meant nothing, as if my heart isn’t racing in my fucking chest and she isn’t still tangled around me.
I don’t want to kiss her this way, with her vulnerable and bruised. I don’t want to kiss her and have her turn my summer upside down. I’m in Paris, but I’m not staying. I’ll do my therapy and return to reporting. I’m not going to be forced to take on a desk job. I’ve handled worse in my life than what happened in Afghanistan.
Everly
Before she leaves my flat, I’m going to have a list a fucking mile long of all the things that piss me off about Everly.
She grimaces as I wipe away more blood, and our eyes connect. “Sorry,” I say.
“It’s fine.”
I make a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat and keep cleaning up her face until I’m certain it won’t get infected when I close the gash up.
“Are you a nurse?” she asks, attempting to be cheeky.
“No.”
“I bet you’d look good in the uniform.” She sighs again before adding, “I was just trying to make you laugh. You look so serious right now.”
I crack a smile, but I’m annoyed. I can’t figure her out. She’s sun and shadow, evasive and familiar all at once. “I’m a journalist,” I confess.
Was a journalist.
I didn’t want to tell her because of what she’s doing now—drawing back, stiffening up. “A war correspondent,” I clarify and stop there. She doesn’t need to know the rest, and that’s the last fucking thing I want to think about right now.
Her fingers tug and twist in my shirt in anxious fists. “Do you know who I am?”
Everly Tallis Monteith—heiress to an oil fortune, socialite, accident waiting to happen.
I nod. I don’t really care, but I guess she thinks it’ll change everything. Everything? It’s nothing. It’s nothing, right?
“Breathe, Everly.”
She looks up at me, her blue eyes still bloodshot. They must be gorgeous when they’re clear. I bet they’re dark and deep, exactly like Everly.
“You know all about me, I bet.”
“Nadine told me.” I lean over to throw the alcohol wipe in the trash, careful not to back away so she can’t stand up and dash out. I can sense the tension in her limbs without even touching her. “I know nothing about you.”
She’s quiet again, so I rip open the liquid stitches packet with my teeth and push the raw skin of her gash together. Carefully, I lay the seal and keep my fingers there, softly blowing over her wound while it sets. Her pulse is racing beneath my fingertips. If my touch hurts, she gives no hint that she’s in pain.
I feel her studying me again and keep my eyes focused on the drying glue. “I’ll leave it to you, Everly. To tell me who you are. I don’t care about the stories.”
My fingers slip down her face tenderly, as if my touch can soak up the bruised skin and make it disappear, make her whole. I can’t, though, so I swallow and tip her chin up so we’re looking at each other. I mean to say something, to tell her she can go and to be careful, but the words stick in my dry throat. My eyes are pinned on my thumb running over her full, bottom lip.
“Are you going to kiss me now, Beckett?”
Yes.
My palms start to sweat, but we both don’t move away. “Do you want me to?”
I feel her answer under my thumb—the small twitch of her lips, the way they part slightly and she holds her breath. It roots me to the floor, and I can’t stop watching her, feeling her spiraling around me until I’m caught up in the idea of what it would be like to kiss Everly.
“I think you’re set,” I say instead, like a total coward. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”
She lies to me again without words. It’s that damn smile of hers that spreads across her lips and erases the bad that’s happened, brushing it away as if it meant nothing, as if my heart isn’t racing in my fucking chest and she isn’t still tangled around me.
I don’t want to kiss her this way, with her vulnerable and bruised. I don’t want to kiss her and have her turn my summer upside down. I’m in Paris, but I’m not staying. I’ll do my therapy and return to reporting. I’m not going to be forced to take on a desk job. I’ve handled worse in my life than what happened in Afghanistan.
Everly
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