be—good, bad, pleasurable, and painful.
And I want to welcome it. The taste of his kiss, the completechaos he’ll unleash in my life because I’ll be so busy focusing on the scattered mess that I won’t even notice I’m wading through the broken parts of myself that Lexi’s death left behind.
That Becks began to help piece back together last night.
Becks.
Last night.
What in the hell am I doing? I struggle to pull myself from the drug of Dante and the ever-apparent need to lose myself. I press my hands on his shoulders, attempting to pull back from his mouth, but his hand holds firm on my neck. My body tells me it wants this: My heart and head tell me to get my shit together and have some damn dignity. That being festive is fine, but there’s no need to be a twenty-four-hour Mardis Gras.
“No,” I murmur against his lips, knowing that the longer I drink him in, the harder it is going to be to walk away. “No!” I say again with a defiant shove against his chest.
He steps back from me, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. His shoulders move with the force of his panted breaths. I can see anger stemming from my rejection vibrating just beneath the surface, and for a moment, I think it’s going to escape but he reins it in.
My lips tingle from his kiss, but I know this is no good. Would be no good. I push off the counter decisively. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“What the fuck, Had?” There’s an annoyed exasperation in his voice, but I couldn’t care less.
I keep walking out of the kitchen that now feels so small from his presence. “You want a place to stay? Don’t touch me again.”
His laugh—empty and hollow—follows me out of the kitchen. And there’s something about the sound of it that tugs at me, causes me to stop after I turn the corner to the hallway. I lean my shoulder against the wall momentarily when I realize why it bugs me so much.
It’s the emptiness and hollowness that resonate the loudest.
His laugh echoes what mine has sounded like for the past six months. A false pretense—sounding fine when I’m anything but. I stand there in indecision. The compassionate part of me feels like I need to go back and see what’s wrong, ask what has stolen the warmth from him. I should make sure he’s okay because I sure as fuck know that I’m not. And then the find-another-doorstep-to-cry-on part of me says I need to run like the fucking wind the other way, high heels and all.
Wouldn’t it be nice if the other way led to Becks?
What the fuck?
Jesus, Haddie, get a grip.
I sigh and shake my head as I start moving down the hallway toward my bedroom. My head is all over the place, and the all too familiar burn of threatening tears is there.
Again.
I enter my room and flick on some music. Something, anything to concentrate on other than the quick flash of desire downstairs and the slow burn from the man whose telephone I accidentally grabbed.
The problem is that when you purposely want to forget someone, you remember them the most. Lexi. Dante. Becks. All three ride the wave of thoughts crashing around in my head.
It hurts too damn much to think about Lexi. I’ll have the whole goddamn day tomorrow to struggle with her memory, fight the tears, soak in the only part of her I have left, so I push her as best as I can from my head.
The door to the backyard slams shut, and my thoughts are drawn to Dante.
Delectable Dante
. Damn if there isn’t just a main line from that man’s mouth straight to my crotch. But alongside that is the wrecking ball on a direct path to my heart. So good but so damn bad.
The night we met should have been an indication of our volatility when he mistook me for the wrong girl outside a club. Spun me around and knocked me breathless with hiskiss long before he realized I wasn’t who he thought I was. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he realized it, eyes wide with shock and jaw slack. But then that lazy, arrogant smirk grew as we gave each other the
And I want to welcome it. The taste of his kiss, the completechaos he’ll unleash in my life because I’ll be so busy focusing on the scattered mess that I won’t even notice I’m wading through the broken parts of myself that Lexi’s death left behind.
That Becks began to help piece back together last night.
Becks.
Last night.
What in the hell am I doing? I struggle to pull myself from the drug of Dante and the ever-apparent need to lose myself. I press my hands on his shoulders, attempting to pull back from his mouth, but his hand holds firm on my neck. My body tells me it wants this: My heart and head tell me to get my shit together and have some damn dignity. That being festive is fine, but there’s no need to be a twenty-four-hour Mardis Gras.
“No,” I murmur against his lips, knowing that the longer I drink him in, the harder it is going to be to walk away. “No!” I say again with a defiant shove against his chest.
He steps back from me, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. His shoulders move with the force of his panted breaths. I can see anger stemming from my rejection vibrating just beneath the surface, and for a moment, I think it’s going to escape but he reins it in.
My lips tingle from his kiss, but I know this is no good. Would be no good. I push off the counter decisively. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“What the fuck, Had?” There’s an annoyed exasperation in his voice, but I couldn’t care less.
I keep walking out of the kitchen that now feels so small from his presence. “You want a place to stay? Don’t touch me again.”
His laugh—empty and hollow—follows me out of the kitchen. And there’s something about the sound of it that tugs at me, causes me to stop after I turn the corner to the hallway. I lean my shoulder against the wall momentarily when I realize why it bugs me so much.
It’s the emptiness and hollowness that resonate the loudest.
His laugh echoes what mine has sounded like for the past six months. A false pretense—sounding fine when I’m anything but. I stand there in indecision. The compassionate part of me feels like I need to go back and see what’s wrong, ask what has stolen the warmth from him. I should make sure he’s okay because I sure as fuck know that I’m not. And then the find-another-doorstep-to-cry-on part of me says I need to run like the fucking wind the other way, high heels and all.
Wouldn’t it be nice if the other way led to Becks?
What the fuck?
Jesus, Haddie, get a grip.
I sigh and shake my head as I start moving down the hallway toward my bedroom. My head is all over the place, and the all too familiar burn of threatening tears is there.
Again.
I enter my room and flick on some music. Something, anything to concentrate on other than the quick flash of desire downstairs and the slow burn from the man whose telephone I accidentally grabbed.
The problem is that when you purposely want to forget someone, you remember them the most. Lexi. Dante. Becks. All three ride the wave of thoughts crashing around in my head.
It hurts too damn much to think about Lexi. I’ll have the whole goddamn day tomorrow to struggle with her memory, fight the tears, soak in the only part of her I have left, so I push her as best as I can from my head.
The door to the backyard slams shut, and my thoughts are drawn to Dante.
Delectable Dante
. Damn if there isn’t just a main line from that man’s mouth straight to my crotch. But alongside that is the wrecking ball on a direct path to my heart. So good but so damn bad.
The night we met should have been an indication of our volatility when he mistook me for the wrong girl outside a club. Spun me around and knocked me breathless with hiskiss long before he realized I wasn’t who he thought I was. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he realized it, eyes wide with shock and jaw slack. But then that lazy, arrogant smirk grew as we gave each other the
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