Page 184 of Falling in Reverse

And not even that has helped.

Regardless, I’ve warned him of the boundary that he’s getting pretty close to crossing. He’s already taken her fake boyfriend, fucked her in his library, but he can’t allow her to fully go.

No, I’m not the only person feeling this.

And I’ve never been one to have to share anything either. The only thing that Torin has working for him at this moment in time is that I understand what he’s feeling for her. And that’s mixed with a whole lot of confusion, lust, denial, and apprehension.

I have two of the four.

No need to exhaust my brain with things that I haven’t seen yet, nor do I get vibing off her.

“This the weed y’all deal out?” I ask her, taking one last hit before pawning it off again.

“I don’t deal.”

My lips hoist at her lie. “Sure, you don’t, McQueen. They didn’t find anything on you that night, right?”

A beat goes by before she says, “Right.”

“Well, whoever your dealer is grows good shit.”

“Yeah.”

I tuck my legs underneath my ass, feeling the lightness in my head beginning to take form. “Your secret is safe with me. Whether you sell dope, run the shit, just stay out of The Landings. I can’t stress it enough.”

“I’ve been told a million times,” she sighs through a tightness to her voice. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“I am because I don’t feel as though you’re taking me seriously.” I’m not saying it because we need the money. I’m doing it to keep her protected, even though she’s not going to see it that way.

It’s not just the Forsaken Crew in The Landings now. I can tell them to jump off a cliff and they wouldn’t question me.

It’s The Void.

It’s Emilio and Ramsey’s crew that’s running around now, and I don’t want her caught in the middle of that shit.

“I heard you.”

“Your lack of hearing isn’t my concern,” I retort. “It’s the simple fact of you listening.”

“I said I heard you, didn’t I?”

“Just like Torin,” I vouch, feeling her gaze on me again. “Always quick to the gun on being told what to do.”

“I’m nothing like?—”

I steer my face to hers. “Aren’t you, though? You’re two seconds away from jumping down my throat with no tongue involved.”

A haughty little scoff emits from her lips. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“I can be, McQueen. Just tell me when and I’ll be there in record time.”

“My ass isn’t for sale,” she mutters over the lit joint.

“I was wondering if your heart was.”

“My heart?” She says it as though she doesn’t have one or speaking about it is literally the stupidest shit she’s ever had to endure.

I look out the treehouse, still hearing the music from the street play out. Phil Collin’s “Groovy Kind of Love” saunters through the houses and trees. It must mean the baby boomers have taken over the tunes.

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