Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“You didn’t even know I existed before we bumped into each other that time.”
“Of course I did.”
I frown, staring in his general direction despite the darkness. “No, you didn’t.”
“Then how do you think I figured out all those tidbits about you? Such as your love for metal music or your sarcastic tendencies?”
“I figured Reina or one of the cheerleaders gave you pointers.”
“They didn’t need to. I was already watching you.”
“You were what?” I nearly choke on my own words.
“I watched you, baby. For three years.”
Sebastian
Three years ago
It’s fascinating how someone feels their bad days so deeply when they don’t even notice their good ones.
That someone is me.
Bad days always start with the same thing—the need to hurt.
It pulses inside me like there’s a second person attempting to get out but fails to find a way to.
It beats and claws.
It murmurs, then screams.
There’s no tuning it out and ignoring it won’t help. The only way to placate it is with the promise for violence.
I’m barely focused on Owen and Asher’s conversation as we walk from our cars to the school building. Maybe I can beat someone the fuck up at today’s practice.
Without breaking any bones.
The last thing I want is to get my grandparents involved. The only reason they like to be called to school is when they’re promised to take some honorary awards home.
What’s the best way to get rid of excess energy without broaching my grandparents’ limits?
There’s fucking, but that barely helps. Even when I get rough, it doesn’t really satiate that urge for more.
Asher stops walking and I automatically do, too. He’s been my friend since we were young. His father owns the firm that represents my grandfather.
After constantly being thrust into each other’s presence, we thought, ‘Fuck it. We might as well become friends.’ Or maybe it’s Owen’s obnoxious presence that brought us together.
We definitely don’t talk as much as when he’s the center of attention, making everything about him and his random adventures.
Asher’s dark green eyes narrow and a muscle tics in his jaw. He always has a cool mask strapped on his features and only one thing can remove it.
Or rather, one person.
I follow his field of vision, and sure enough, it’s Reina.
She stands beside her car, laughing at something one of the soccer players is saying.
A sight that Asher doesn’t approve of.
Her eyes meet his and her smile falls for a second before she picks up her conversation again as if her fiancé isn’t standing a few feet away.
They started this stupid arranged engagement a few years back and they’ve only been spiraling out of control since. It got worse after her father died at the beginning of the year and she moved in with her legal guardian—Asher’s father. Now that they live together, they’re always at each other’s throats.
I watch as my friend’s body stiffens, his muscles straining against his T-shirt. His face closes off as well and he nearly rips a tendon in his neck from how hard he’s gritting his teeth.
“Don’t do it, dude.” Owen’s gaze flits between the scene and Asher’s rigid posture. “He’s just talking to her.”
I lift a shoulder. “He could mean something more.”
“Whose side are you on, fucker?” Owen glares at me.
“Asher’s, of course.” I lean in. “He’s putting his hand on her. See? He’s touching her arm. Who knows what he’ll be touching next?”
That’s all it takes for Asher to sprint toward them. Owen flips me off before he runs after him.
It’s too late, though.
One second, the soccer player is standing there, and the next, Asher slams his fist straight into his face.
The sound of crunching bones hits my ears and I briefly close my eyes to commit it to memory.
It still doesn’t help in chasing away the need for violence and the urge to pummel someone into the ground, but it does sound nice.
It looks nice, too.
The soccer player is on his knees, clutching his bloody nose as he spits profanities at Asher.
Reina’s face turns to stone. She’s probably used to Asher beating the crap out of anyone who looks at her, let alone talks to her.
He’s that possessive and she’s that antagonizing. Because, sometimes, she does it on purpose, just to get a reaction out of him.
The player jumps up and lands a punch on Asher’s cheek. And then they’re punching each other as if it’s a boxing match.
Owen tries to interfere while Reina just stands there, her expression tight as she watches the fight. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her nails dig into her skin.
Asher punches harder and gets hit just as hard.
What a nice view.
What’s nicer, though, are the drops of blood on the concrete.
If Asher’s fist was more powerful, there’d be more blood.
Pity.
I release a bored sigh. I should probably pretend to get them off each other so it doesn’t appear as if I’m enjoying the show a bit too much.