Page 223 of Vicious Saint
The list goes on until the end of time.
“Yeah…you’re right.”
Through a smile and a pull I shoot out, “Duh.”
I’m seconds from a victory pat on the back when Archer responds, “But we’re still taking out my family yacht this weekend.”
Of course we are.
Movement coming from the parking lot steals my attention, and when I look over I find Theory and Annalie rushing to the entrance door huddled under Saint’s Letterman jacket—with Saint in nothing but a soaked white tee following behind them.
There’s a tightness in my lungs, but it’s not from the smoke I’m holding inside.
They’re filled with anger, what-if’s, and undeniable longing for the guy I haven’t been able to muster more than an “excuse me” to since the first of school.
No usual Hendrix raging.
Secret vendettas. Axes to grind.
Not even tit to seek out tat.
Just me and this girl I don’t recognize, carrying around pain neither of us know what to do with.
It took days for Saint to carve out a version of what my heart looks and feels like with him in it, only to smash both to pieces.
It’s as tragic as it is heartbreaking for what we could’ve been.
I’m watching Theory whisper something to Annalie as Archer moves in on my ear too. “I’m surprised they aren’t—”
“Give it a second…fewer brain cells take bitches longer to think.”
Archer chuckles, and like clockwork the two of them shift gears from the door to a table not far away.
Pathetic. Pathetic.
Almost as much as Saint’s need to help his little sister and her fake ass bestie climb on top of it.
Last I remembered, they both have working arms and legs.
One equipped with knees that work plenty of overtime.
“Should we go?” Archer questions when I’m hit with two lipsticked smirks.
I blow out a puff of smoke. “Nah, let ’em get soaked for nothing.”
Fighting the urge to return Saint’s fleeting glances from the chair he’s straddling, I center my thoughts around the stick between my fingers and Archer’s hushed voice.
“Still not a word, huh?”
“Nope.” I suck in a drag.
“Just proves you’re better off without him.”
For someone as smart as Archer, the guy sure can be dense.
“How could I ever be without him, dude? Seriously. His dad married my mom.”
Archer’s wince is nothing short of apologetic. “Good point. But at least you don’t have to worry about coming out to them as a…step-couple?”
