Page 40 of The Fallacy of True Love
What did it say about me that I grinned?
Cam
Low laughter followed me as I turned onto my street. Was this guy a masochist or something? I’d dissed him multiple times in two days, and still he kept coming back for more. Did they not teach the concepts of self-preservation and learning your lesson in law school?
“The bus station’s on the main road,” I told him.
“Yeah, but I have”—he glanced at his watch—“forty-two minutes to go. Lots of time to get you home safe.”
I glared at him. “You’re not getting me anywhere. I am.”
“You’re right,” he said, giving me a sheepish look. “My sisters would punch me for undermining your capabilities.”
As they should.
“But they’d do worse if they found out I left you to walk alone in the middle of the night.”
“Like I said, this isn’t Manila, and I do this all the time.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m from Manila, and I’m sticking with what I know.”
“You are the most annoying person I’ve met.”
Not a flinch. “As long as I’m not the worst.”
“Aww, does someone have a fear of failure?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“People who have nothing to lose.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Guess you don’t know what that feels like.”
“And you know me well enough to infer that?” he shot back, his voice raised.
There it was—that temper of his that he kept leashed. It added fuel to my own fire. “I know you were top of your class. You and your girlfriend were probably one of the it couples, right? Part of the popular crowd. You say you’re not rich, but you can obviously afford to stay in school longer than most people do, so you have enough to put off working full-time. You talk about your sisters fondly, which tells me you have a good relationship with them, if not your entire family. So, no,” I concluded. “You don’t have nothing to lose. You have plenty, and you can’t imagine the thought of losing it, so you try damn hard to keep up your perfect boy persona.”
His chest rose and fell faster as he stared at me with fire in his eyes. “What about you? You talk tough and pretend you don’t care. That you’re an island and you don’t need anyone but yourself. But I’ve seen you with your friends. You volunteered yesterday, even though you hate tattooing strangers, because Eric organized that event. You tattooed Jo’s drawings on your leg and then bought a skin-safe marker and drew the same flowers on her arm. You even let her call you Tita Cammy.” He snorted at my growl. “I’m thinking you’re not as cold as you want people to believe.”
If looks could burn, he would be ash by now.
“In fact, I bet you’re a big old softy at heart. You’re only pretending otherwise to protect yourself.” He paused. “Am I right?”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
“It’s one of the things I do best, so no.” His shrug had my temper surging to the boiling point.
Stepping toward him, I spoke between gritted teeth. “You should know when to shut up.”
He moved closer so there was barely an inch of distance between my chest and his midsection. “Make me,” he whispered.
We stared at each other for one long, tense moment. My eyes tried to sear into his skull, and he smirked right before opening his mouth again?—
And then my control broke.
Grabbing the front of his shirt, I yanked him to me and silenced him with my mouth. Barely a beat passed before his arms locked around me and his lips moved on mine in a kiss that was bruising. All encompassing. We fought for dominance, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth to parry with mine.
Everything in me went molten. I tasted anger and frustration in his kiss—but also desire. And it tasted good.
Somehow, I ended up pinned against a wall, with one hand buried in his hair and the other clutching his back. He pulled up my leg, hooking it around his waist, and I moaned against his lips as his erection settled against me.
