Page 194 of Pretty Little Lies

“I dunno, Pretty Boy, do you?”

His lips quirk in a slight smirk. “I want to know all about it, Wildfire. Yet, I don’t want you to waste too much energy on the bitch.”

“I’m just going to leave a few bruises.”

“I was thinking something more permanent.” The crook of his index finger grazes underneath my chin and my skin lights up like a Christmas tree. “To remember you by.”

I’m starting to realize that Torin likes taking care of those around him who he cares about and I’m within that inner circle. And, even though he’s right about not putting too much energy into Vivian, I’m wishing for him to do the same.

“I appreciate it. But I think I’ve got it for now.” I pull from his ginger touch and round his frame to go pack a fucking box and get the hell out of here. I have to go pick Mae and Ellie up from school, because Levi is moving Dad’s car to the garage today and I don’t want pity soaking into my skin.

However, Torin has other ideas.

The tips of his fingers graze down the side of my arm before latching on firmly to my wrist, forcing me to turn around to meet him again.

To facethis.

It’s been hard to keep it at bay. That I’m living the last moments in this house. That I’ll never walk through it again.

And it kills me.

“I know you don’t want the help,” he mutters softly. “I also noticed how much you don’t want to talk about it, so we won’t. However, I do need to ask a few things.”

If he asks me about Levi and my routine right now, I might lose my shit.

“Like?” I solicit, holding his tawny gaze.

“Like what shampoo you use and?—”

“Torin, I have my own shampoo.”

“And what breakfast foods do you like?”

“Whatever is in the house.”

His arm snakes around my back, and he pulls me closer. “I want to know what you like, baby, so you can thank me properly when Cairo cooks it.”

One of my brows pop. “Cairo? He cooks?”

“And loves it.”

“And I’d thank you because…”

“Because I made sure the shit was there.” He gives me one of his award-winning smiles. “And because I was being thoughtful.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t want my shit, trust me. I can barely make cereal.”

“Rich boy problems.”

“You’d be surprised at hownotrich we were when I was growing up. My mom was a…pill popper.” He forces the last two words out like he doesn’t like to speak about it. “Ramsey and I took care of ourselves.”

“So you know the struggle.”

“Until she married Emilio. However, the house you’ll be staying in, Reeve, Cairo, and I bought ourselves. I don’t get shit from Emilio. I haven’t since I was an early teen.”

“Well…I like blueberry pancakes.”

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