Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
I shoot him a warning look.
“Ax, son, enough,” Mars warns.
He raises his arms in surrender. “Fine. Whatever.”
Finally, Mars sits back and rests his elbows on the arms. “Now, care to explain who she is?”
I fist my hands, digging my blunt nails into my skin because I know what’s coming. It’s like an electric shock every time it happens, every time thoughts of her run through my head. Or like sticking your hand into scalding-hot water.
Reverie.
Like a daydream. I couldn’t have picked a better name for her myself. The girl who brought my dreams back is called Reverie. Suits her much better than the name Peyton ever did. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is that I’ve tried to escape her these last few days. Her buttercup scent that I fall asleep to; the shape of her curvy little soft body that seems to be imprinted on mine after riding with her for close to a week; the goddamn memory of her taste that rises up at the least opportune moments. I’ve tried pushing all those things away, but it doesn’t work. So now I simply let it all pass through me, let it electrocute me, burn me before moving on.
Although I don’t think there’s any moving on from what happened last night. What I did. I keep my tone neutral and my mind at task. “She’s the best friend. Her mother used to work for the Turners.”
Mars doesn’t bother to hide his confusion. Tipping his hat up, he asks, “If she’s not the Turner girl, what is she doin’ here?”
It’s hard to hold on to a calm composure, but I do it. “She’s here because I made a mistake.”
At this, Mars’s eyes turn sharp, and I notice Ax putting his phone aside. Several seconds pass while they scrutinize me, and soon I’m losing my patience. I need to get this done so I can get out of here. Because as it turns out, my fucked-up brain thinks family’s a crowd, too, and I’m starting to suffocate within these walls. I’m not sure, though, where I’ll find relief or where I belong because it’s not as if I can take an easy breath when I’m outside either. Out there, there’s too much fucking sky and air.
Actually, I do know where I find relief. By her side.
When she’s with me, all my focus is on her. On looking at her, smelling her, keeping her safe. I don’t feel useless. Like a sore thumb sticking out whose only place is behind bars. But the thing is that I don’t deserve relief. And neither do I know how to keep anyone safe, let alone her.
Mars is the first to break the silence. “Are you sayin’ to me that you brought home the wrong girl?”
I clench my jaw and let another one of those electric shocks jolt through my system. This one stems from anger at myself. At my absolute fucking incompetence.
“Holy shit.” Ax sits up in his chair, his mouth open in a way that makes him look like the ten-year-old kid he was when I left. “You fucked up.”
Before I can respond to Ax’s conclusion, Mars speaks: “Did you?”
Exhaling a short breath, I admit grudgingly, “Apparently.”
I see his mustache twitch in growing anger. “So instead of putting her back in the right place, you brought her here.”
“She’s not a bridle that I misplaced,” I snap. “She’s a girl. Couldn’t leave her by the side of the road when I found out she was useless, now, could I?”
“So you shouldn’t have picked her up like the goddamn bridle in the first place.”
“Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, ain’t it.”
He grinds his jaw. “How does that… How the fuck could you not know?”
I’ve been asking myself the same question. How the fuck did it happen?
Last night, after I found out the truth and she passed out, I gave Rad another call and told him everything. He was just as shocked as I was. Apparently, both girls look alike, and since they’re always together, it never occurred to him, or to me, that there was a chance of mistaken identity. Not to mention, when I called Rad about the Turner girl, I gave him some pointers, and all of them were based on the letters. How she loves books more than people. How she spends most of her time at the library. How her best friend has a habit of falling for the wrong guys. So, like me, he assumed Reverie was the Turner girl.
But that’s not the worst part. The worst fucking part is that when I did suspect something, I didn’t immediately follow through. What the fuck was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking, though, was I. I got distracted. I got fucking stupid the moment I saw her at the café and heard her voice. That was the moment I started thinking with my dick. There are no two ways about it. Something about her, something that I can’t put my finger on, does it for me. Maybe it’s that face, all beautiful and innocent; those blue eyes full of wonder and fire; maybe those lips that tremble with shyness even as they sass me; or maybe it’s her abundant curves that I want to lose myself in. Or it could be the very fact that despite being at my mercy, she managed to get one up on me.