Page 37 of Wild Eyes
A comfort blanket with big fucking hands and the world’s roundest ass.
And now I’d like to dig myself a hole in this dirt path, crawl in, and die.
“Don’t be sorry.” He gently strokes my cheek, lifts a piece of my hair, and stares at it like it means something, then tucks it carefully behind my ear. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I vigorously shake my head as I step back from his touch. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. You were just being nice, and I don’t what…well…we…we’re…”
“Friends?” he offers tentatively as I take a second step back.
Internally, I sag.
Friends.
I’m short on friends. But my stomach doesn’t flip when friends look at me. I don’t push closer and hope my friends will slide their tongues into my mouth. I don’t itch to feel my friends’ hands on my bare skin.
But still, I’m not in a position to turn down a friend. Especially a man as deeplygoodas West. So I force a bright expression onto my face.
And with the most practiced smile I can muster, I repeat the word back to him. “Friends.”
It feels like acid on my tongue. But West seems relieved.
So I tell myself I kind of like the taste.
Another day. Another lie.
CHAPTER NINE
WEST
Okay,so Skylar Stone kissed me.
I don’t think she meant anything by it.
It was a momentary lapse of judgment, obviously.
Because although I have no doubt that I’m perfectly kissable, that one felt more like a girl seeking comfort and not really knowing what she was after. It seemed like a moment I shouldn’t take advantage of, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it for a beat.
I barely know Skylar, but I do know she’s been hurt. She’s low on friends and even lower on trust. And what kind of pig would I be if I took advantage of that after listening to her spill her guts in the most heartbreaking and infuriating fashion?
But none of that prevented me from staying up, laid out flat on my back, staring at my ceiling while replaying the kiss in my mind.
The only thing that distracts me from the kiss is the story about her ex. And her parents. And what royal assholes they all sound like.
I have staff to do morning chores now, but my body still wakes me up at the crack of dawn on the best days. The morninglight has been shining through my useless curtains for some time now, and I know I need to get moving, but I’m trapped in my head.
Thinking.
And no one has ever accused me of being a big thinker.
But I can’t let this one go. Can’t stop wondering how her parents could have put her through what they did.
My parents have come through for me at every turn. Even when I was at my wildest—at my worst—they bailed me out. They may not have always liked me, but they’ve always loved me, no matter what.
I strive to be that type of parent. It’s never occurred to me that anyone would strive to be any other type of parent. I feel naive for the first time in a long-ass time.
It’s a stark reminder that Skylar and I come from two different walks of life.
What’s more troubling is I sense she gave me the vaguely summarized version of her family history. I didn’t miss the way she froze in the kitchen when that glass broke. Which means it’s gotta be worse than what she let out. It’s none of my business to ask her more, but it doesn’t keep me from wondering.
