Page 194 of Breaking the Rules
I want to be her everything.
To live in a universe where that's a possibility.
I don't.
It's not.
I need to get over it.
I try to shake it off. Fail. "Everyone who knows stares like I'm a fuckup or a train wreck."
"Oh." Understanding fills her eyes.
"My brother put the pieces together six months ago." I press my palm into her soft white sheets.
"Chase?"
"He planned this huge intervention. Got everyone there. Even the shop owner. And my fucking parents. Which is rich."
"They're—"
"Not sure I've ever seen my mom sober."
"I'm sorry."
I shake my head. I want her sympathy. But I want to deserve it. I'm the one who fucked-up this. I made bad decisions. Chose alcohol over everything else. I need to own that. "He gave me an ultimatum. I could keep drinking or I could keep working at the shop."
"That's fucked-up."
Maybe. But not to Chase. "He was trying to help."
"Yeah, but everyone knows you don't take an addict's word." Her dark eyes fill with sympathy. "No offense."
A laugh falls from my lips. It's funny, her swerving around my feelings. My whole fucking life is swerving around feelings. Either, I'm walking on eggshells or I'm the eggshells someone's avoiding. "No. It was stupid. Naïve even. He's usually not like that."
"I know the type." She pushes herself up. Onto her back. Hugs her knees and pulls them toward her chest.
She's wearing these tiny black shorts.
They show off every inch of those long legs.
I want those legs wrapped around me.
Pressed against my cheeks.
Fighting my hands.
I want to make her come.
It's impossible to push the thought aside.
"You are the type," she says.
"Now. Then… I was… you met my brother."
"Wes?"
I nod. "You like him?"
