Page 57 of A Little Broken

Her eyes flash in the moonlight, proving I’ve affected her by showing my hand and how much our conversation meant to me. Maybe I fucked myself over by showing it too soon, but this girl. Fuck, this girl. She’s been messing with my head for so long, now that she’s here, I don’t know what to do with myself.

Arms folded, she rocks back on her heels, watching me.

“Give me your number,” I repeat.

“And if I do?”

“I’ll call you.”

“I don’t live here. I’m only visiting?—”

“With your husband,” I quip. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Rolling her eyes, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and admits, “Okay, I’m serious about the leaving part, though.”

Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. But it doesn’t matter either way as long as I can get in touch with her. As long as I can track her down and see her again because she might fight this, but there’s something about her. Something calling to me. Something pushing me to keep going. Keep fighting. Keep climbing past those barriers even if it kills me. I move forward. “Give me your number, Birthday Girl.”

With a huff, she mutters, “You really won’t quit, will you?”

“Not a chance.” Reaching up, I brush her hair away from her face, pinching the ends softly before letting it go.

“Fine,” she whispers, though her eyes stay glued to my chest. “555-942-9932.”

I nod, committing the numbers to memory. “When do you leave?”

“I, uh, soon. Just…call me or whatever, but I have to go.”

I watch her feet dig into the sand as she jogs away.

“See you soon, Birthday Girl.”

16

TATUM

Sometimes I surprise myself with how stupid I can be. Did I seriously just give Paxton a blow job at the bonfire after he called me out for lying all those years ago? Why, yes. Yes, I did. But the worst part? I had to force myself to brush my teeth, knowing it would erase his taste. Which is a problem on so many levels. One, cum does not taste great. Who wants it lingering in their mouth for hours on end, let alone waking up to it in the morning? And two, why does the idea of erasing said taste all because it’s Paxton’s make me feel like I’ll never have a chocolate shake ever again?

Seriously, I am so messed up in the head.

After ditching Pax, I faked a stomach ache, and Rory drove us home without complaint, though I know she isn’t stupid. Far from it. The girl’s a genius who never misses anything. And if I had to guess, that probably includes my absence at the bonfire. The ride is relatively quiet, and once we’re home, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and change into my pajamas before climbing into bed.

After Rory takes Hades outside to do his business, she flicks the light off and takes her turn in the bathroom. Part of me wishes she would hurry up so I wouldn’t be alone with mythoughts. Twisting the edge of the pillow case, I fight the urge to find my notebook and write an essay of what a terrible person I am and how sorry I am for lying. For missing Archer. And for not being able to erase Paxton’s comment about lobster rolls and the ocean. He remembered. Who remembers something like that?

The quiet squeak from the bathroom door opening cuts through my thoughts as Rory pads to her twin bed and nudges Hades to scoot over. When he does, she slips beneath the covers, asking, “How was Cowboy?”

I pause.

How was my fake husband?

Well, let’s see. Where to start? He’s not the brightest crayon in the box, that’s for sure. He also lost brownie points for letting me leave with Paxton without a fight. Not that I wanted a fight, but a little backup would’ve been nice. He was cute, though. Or at least, that was my first impression until Pax showed up out of nowhere. Now I can barely conjure up an image of what he looked like, only the way moonlight cast shadows on Paxton’s face as he stared down at me while I gave him my mouth. What is he doing here, anyway? I should probably look up IndieCent Vows’ schedule, so I can figure out how to lay low until they move on. Because if he finds out I lied to him again, he might literally kill me.

Okay, literally is probably a little strong, but I digress.

“Tate?” Rory prods.

Cowboy. Right.

“Cowboy?” I shift on the bed and shove my pillow a little further under my head. “He was fine, I guess.”

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