Page 25 of Fight for You

"Oh. Why?"

"Because I want you to be mine."

She tips her head back to gawk at me, her mouth opened in a surprised "O". I can't help but chuckle at how adorable she looks with her mouth hanging open like that. I brush away the tears drying on her cheeks and then push her mouth closed with a finger beneath her chin. She is incredibly beautiful. Even with her eyes all red and puffy, she's the prettiest little monster I've ever met before. She still reminds me of the little dolls she used to have in her room…the porcelain ones with the big, pretty eyes.

"Titan's probably going to be pissed about it," I whisper to her and then kiss her on the forehead and both of her cheeks. Her skin is even softer than her hair. "But I've wanted to kiss you for a long time."

"Oh."

"Do you want to go to the dance with Corey?" I ask, worried she might like him. I'm not sure what I'm going to do if she does. Probably kick his ass so he can't come near her and then beg her to forgive me for it after I do it. She'll have to forgive me eventually, right?

Shit, I hope so. It'd suck if she stayed pissed at me forever.

"No," she whispers, allowing me to pull in a deep breath of relief. Her lashes flutter. They're so long. Her emerald eyes catch mine, searing into me. "I wanted you to kiss me too."

"How long?"

"A long time," she mumbles, her cheeks turning pink.

Happiness swells inside me, sending my heart soaring. I feel like a king with her sweet words ringing in my ears. The smile on my face feels like it's going to crack my cheeks because it's so big, but I don't care. She likes me too. I'm the luckiest bastard on the planet.

"Can I kiss you now?" I whisper, my voice husky.

She nods.

I lean forward and press my lips to hers. Just like our first kiss, this one is incredible…only it's better, because she doesn't run from me this time.

I close my eyes, letting the memory wash over me. But then reality slaps me in the face, and I'm just standing there alone, the bitter taste of regret choking me.

Fuck. I need to get out of here.

I hop on my bike, the city lights beckoning like a beacon of sin calling its lost son home.

Chapter Six

January

Ithink I'm dying. Actually, I think my best friend is dying because I'm going to kill her. My head pounds so hard as I lay in my bed that it feels like a hot poker stabs me in the temple over and over. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and my lips are dry and cracked. I desperately need to brush my teeth and gargle a bottle of mouthwash.

That's not even the worst part.

A shredded, torn ruin sits in the cavity where my heart used to be. It's an all-too-familiar feeling—as if my heart went through an industrial-grade shredder. Cade's mouthwatering scent fills my lungs. It's everywhere, as if he's in bed beside me, holding me like he used to do when we were kids, and the world made sense. It's been seven damn years, but he still smells exactly the same. Like home…some indescribably rich and masculine spice that makes me feel safe and whole, even though I'm definitely not whole and probably not even particularly safe.

Even worse?

I remember each excruciating and embarrassing second of what happened last night.

I thought drunk people were supposed to forget whatever humiliating things they did while intoxicated, but no. Not me. I remember every word I said. I remember the way he looked at me like I was breaking his heart even though he crushed mine a long damn time ago. I remember how hard his body felt against mine when he pulled me into his arms. I remember falling apart right in front of him.

I said things to him I never would have said without a bottle and a half of wine pumping through my system.

Things I never wanted him to know. I've been hung up on him for years, unable to forget the one part of my heart that survived my childhood. Now, he knows it, too.

"Wine is the devil," I mumble. Cracking my eyes open, I stare up at the ceiling in my bedroom, trying to find the willpower to get out of bed and get on with my life.

"Knock, knock."

I roll my eyes toward the bedroom door to see Mariah standing right over the threshold, watching me carefully. With her hair up in a bun, her clothes all neat and ironed, and her makeup subtly perfect, she appears as well-coiffed as she does every other day of the week. Her brown eyes fill with worry as they flit across my face.

---