Page 71 of Jagger
“You have no idea.” Jagger looks at me and strokes my face softly. “I’d love you to be my girl. I swear if I could go back, I’d do it all differently.”
“I hated you so much,” I confess, falling onto my back and staring at the ceiling. “You were arrogant, egotistical…”
“Iwas?” Jagger lifts onto his elbow, staring down at me with black hair falling into his eyes. “I’ll always be a cunt, Molly.”
He’s so handsome it hurts to look at him. But it’s more than that—it’s the way he looks at me.
“Would you date me?” I ask, watching as his brows knit together again, perplexed. “Or do you still hate me?”
Jagger chuckles. “I never hated you.”
“Lies,” I say with a smirk. “You hated me.”
“No,” Jagger responds. “I hated how you made me feel. Like there was hope. I’ve never met anyone like you.” He gazes at me, shaking his head. “What happens now?”
“Well, I’m kind of hungry,” I admit, aware that without the cocaine my appetite was returning. The usual apprehension fills me, but Jagger shakes his head and kisses me.
I still can’t breathe when he kisses me…
“Then we eat, baby.”
He’s not addressed the drugs or the alcohol, but he knows. He orders Chinese food in and finally returns his agent’s calls. I refuse to look at my phone. I don’t want reality interrupting this little bubble that the world doesn’t know about.
I cross my legs and tuck into the food, pleased that Jagger ordered so much.
God, I missed food so much.
“What did your agent say?” I finally ask as he lifts a brow.
“Some shit about us being the next power couple of fashion.” He rolls his eyes. “I told him to get fucked.”
I snort and choke on my noodles, my eyes watering as Jagger laughs. It’s such a rare sound, hearing him laugh.
“You didn’t even ask me!” I protest, even though I’d have said the same.
“Would you have said anything different?” Jagger questions, his eyes serious.
“No, I wouldn’t. I’m kidding.”
And just like that, the playfulness has gone. Jagger is terrified of hurting me. But that’s what therapy is for, right?
Speaking of which…
“If we’re going to try this…” I begin, swirling my fork in my noodles.
“Define ‘this’,” Jagger interrupts, his mouth full of food. He pushes the box to the counter behind him and leans on the bed, gazing at me.
I pick at the carton edge, a smile on my lips. “Us.”
Jagger looks like he’s been drenched in ice. “Us,” he repeats. “Fuck, Molly…”
“We need therapy.”
Jagger stills. “Right.”
“Deal? I mean it. This is a deal breaker.”
Jagger crawls toward me on the bed, moving the food away as he takes me into his arms. “I would eat broken glass just to see that smile,” he states, pressing his lips to mine.
