Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
I lie in bed, my heart pounding in my chest like it wants out. For some reason, I drag myself right back to that memory—being a teenager again. That one weekend when our parents went away. Just Owen and me, alone in the house. The night I got in trouble with him.
Six years ago…
My mother had given me one of her signature withering looks right before she left, the kind that burned into your memory. “Behave yourself,” she’d snarled at me, half a threat, half a warning. “If you try anything—so help me—”
“Oh my god, Mom, stop.” I groaned, already humiliated before the door even closed behind her.
It wasn’t like I was a problem child. I never got into trouble. Never snuck out, never did anything wrong. What did she think I was gonna do? Jump Owen the second she pulled out of the driveway? God. He barely even noticed I existed. He didn’t look at me like that.
It was ridiculous and humiliating.
“Go. Have fun, I’m fine,” I said to her, avoiding her eyes.
But she wouldn’t let it go. “I’m telling you right now, Emma—”
“And I’m telling you,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to be, “it’ll be fine. Just leave already. God.”
I was kind of a little shit when I was a teen.
I slammed the door in her face—not my proudest moment.
“Is that how you talk to your mother?” I swiveled my head around to see Owen standing in the hallway. He’d heard every word.
I swallowed and didn’t reply. I couldn’t.
He only shook his head at me. “You’d better think twice about behaving like that when I’m in charge. You’re goddamn lucky you’re not mine.”
His brows knit together as he walked past me, his scent—some kind of snow-capped mountain aftershave—made my legs wobble. Oh god. What was that supposed to mean? And why did it make me want to be his?
But I knew exactly why Mom was warning me.
She’d seen it. She’d seen the book. My notebook. My stupid, private thoughts.
She knew I had a crush on Owen.
What did she think we were going to do though?
That first night, we made pizza together. Just the two of us. It was easy, fun… the kind of night that makes you forget how complicated everything else is. He added oregano and some weird blend of spices, and I watched him, completely captivated. He rolled his eyes at me and showed me how to sprinkle the cheese the “right” way. We layered sauce, pepperoni, and shredded cheese onto flatbreads. I remember feeling so weirdly content and so stupidly nervous.
“Do you wanna watch a movie?” I asked, trying to play it cool but feeling awkward as hell. I felt like I was begging for his attention without actually saying it.
“Nah, can’t,” he said casually. “I gotta go out. Sorry, kid.”
Kid.
God, that word grated. Was that really how he saw me? Just a kid?
“Where are you going?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Got a date.”
My cheeks went up in flames. I looked away so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. I didn’t want to imagine him out with someone else, kissing someone else. And I especially didn’t want to imagine him doing it while I sat here crushing on him.
“Okay,” I mumbled. “Have fun.”
But something cracked open inside me after that. Like… if he was out there, doing whatever he wanted, then why was I always the good one? Why was I the one who had to behave?
Maybe tonight, I wanted to be reckless. A little rash. A little unhinged.
So I waited. I waited until he left in that stupid shiny sports car he loved so much. My mom had taken her husband’s car, so her sleek little sedan sat unused in the driveway.
I didn’t even have my license yet. Barely knew how to drive. I’d taken a few lessons, enough to feel dangerous. Enough to convince myself I could handle it.
Two hours later, the bumper was dinged, the wheels and hubcaps splattered with thick, ugly mud, and I stood in the driveway shaking—completely numb and completely panicked. It wasn’t supposed to rain like that, and how did people ever drive in it?
What the hell was I supposed to do now? I could try cleaning it up. Hide the damage. Maybe no one would notice…
And then the garage door opened.
Owen stood there, framed in the dim light, and my heart thundered so loud I could barely think. I felt dizzy. Caught. Exposed.
“What the bloody hell, Emma?” he said.
He was still dressed for his date—button-up shirt, the kind with those tiny buttons that pulled slightly across his chest. He knew women liked muscles. He told me once it helped him get laid.
Well, good for him.
I wasn’t exactly a fan of that little revelation. But he worked out constantly. Played football. He was popular, attractive. Girls wanted him for the accent. I wanted him for everything else.