Fuck. What have I started?
I can’t even run.
Do I even want to, though?
The answer is simple—it’s a resounding no.
I would love to know how August kisses. If the rumors about him when we were growing up were true, August was the talk of many women’s lips, even mine. And that’s just from seeing him from afar.
“Last chance to back out, rich girl.” He leans in, vibrant green eyes flick from my lips to my eyes, then back again. I take a deep breath and manage to raise my eyebrows. I can barely hear the people around us as they talk. The noise seems to fade away when I stare at him.
How can I see only him?
When I’ve been lost in myself for so long?
“Your boyfriend might get jealous,” he whispers, all the while leaning closer. I can practically taste him on my lips, that minty smell assaulting my nose. “And I must warn you, I may not stop.” Again, his eyes pin my lips, and I start to close my eyes as he leans in closer. “I’m a starving man, rich girl, so you better run before I have a taste.”
None of his words are registering.
None.
Not one.
I sit waiting, wondering if those lips that are so plump, that tell stories, that call me names, will mark me any second now.
“August.”
“Hmm,” he replies, clearly not paying any attention to my words now.
I feel the first brush of him, and I’m not fast enough to catch a breath when he touches me.
It was a mistake.
Because when I breathe, I breathe him in, and I think I‘ve become addicted in one single second of him being near me.
Heavenly so.
“Oh my God!” I hear the squeak before his tongue meets mine, and we both pull away at the same time.
“Rylee.” I turn to see my brother staring at me. I don’t even bother looking at August. I’m stuck on the fact that my lips are pulsing with need for him.
Can you love half-kissing someone?
Because I think I love half-kissing August.
I stand, pushing my chair back.
“I need to go. Do you want a ride?” I ask Beckham.
Beckham turns his attention to Paige, then leans in and kisses her cheek before he nods and steps off. I glance at August, who’s watching me with narrowed eyes.
Like he’s trying to work me out.
Poison, that’s what he is.
My beautiful poison.
And I must stay away.
Men like him aren’t right for women like me.
But then again neither is Anderson.
Beckham stays quiet the whole ride home until we pull up to the front of our house. We both sit in silence as we stare at the large, white monstrosity.
“You need to break it off with Anderson,” Beckham says. “Not because you kissed another man, but because Anderson has laid his hands on you. And if you don’t do something soon, next time he does, I’ll come into your room with my bat and beat his fucking head in, and you won’t be able to stop me.” My mouth hangs open in shock at his words. I watch Beckham as he steps out of the car and hurries to our front door. He’s taller than me, the king of his high school, and now almost a man.
When did he grow up?
How did I miss that he isn’t my baby brother anymore, but now he’s a young man?
I reach for my phone and find Anderson’s number. It rings twice before he answers it.
“Babe, what’s up?” he says casually.
I grit my teeth as I reply to him, “Let’s have dinner tonight. Your favorite restaurant.”
“Umm, sure. What’s brought this on? You’ve hardly wanted to see me.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I tell him.
He agrees, then hangs up.
I take a deep breath, knowing that what I am about to do will probably be hard, but I hope that the right setting will ease the conflict.
Hopefully.
I sit at my seat like the perfect possession.
Yes, that’s all I am to him.
Nothing more than property he can use and abuse.
My legs are crossed, and my elbows aren’t touching the table as I wait for him to arrive.
He’s late. Of course, he is.
I check my phone as the waiter comes back around and offers me a drink.
“Wine, please.” He nods and steps off, probably feeling sorry for me.
Ha, don’t worry, I feel sorry for me.
No messages and no missed calls. It’s going on thirty minutes now, and I’m starving.
Pressing call, Anderson answers, and I can hear the music in the background.
“Where are you?”
“At Larry’s, why? What’s up, babe?”
“Are you joking?”
This is not going as planned.
I need to end it.
Why is he making this so damn hard?
“We had dinner plans,” I huff into the phone.
He goes silent, but the music is pumping in the background.
“Oh, yeah, must have slipped my mind. How about tomorrow night?”
I hang up on him, and the ferocity with which I do it nearly knocks the phone out of my hand. Fuck him!