Page 24 of Your Fault

I bent over our suitcase. It was silly, but it made me feel special to see my clothing there next to his Marc Jacobs shirt.

The dress I put on was simple, sea blue with yellow flowers. My mom had bought it for me. It probably cost a fortune.

When I started putting my makeup on, my eyes settled on my neck, and I grunted, pulling my hair back to reveal two hickeys. I ran out of the bathroom, furious.

“Nicholas!” I shouted. He was talking on his cell phone. Breakfast had arrived, and he was eating on the balcony, chitchatting away like nothing mattered.

“Hold on,” he said to whoever was on the other line.

I pointed to my neck and clavicle. And the dickhead smiled! I was so pissed, I picked up a pillow and threw it at him.

He raised a hand to protect himself and cursed.

“I’ll call you back,” he said, hanging up. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

I hated someone leaving a mark on me. I couldn’t stand anyone leaving marks on my skin. It brought back bad memories, and I didn’t have to explain it.

“You know I hate getting hickeys, Nicholas Leister,” I said, trying to control my voice.

He walked over, reached out to pull my hair back, and looked closer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” he said.

“Sure,” I said, pushing him away just as he started to stroke me. “I’ve already told you, Nicholas, I’m not a cow—I don’t want anyone branding me.”

He laughed so hard, I wanted to hit him.

“Come on, Freckles, we fought enough yesterday. Let’s relax in peace.” He pulled me into a hug. I was stiff as a board, but he soon grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to look at him.

“Forgive me, and I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.

“What?” I responded.

His eyes clouded over. “Anything you want. I’m serious. If it comes out of those lips, I’ll do it. I’m yours.”

I knew what that perverted mind of his was thinking. I smiled, enjoying the situation, feeling powerful.

“Fine,” I said, wrapping my hands around his neck. “There is something I want you to do.”

10

Nick

“No fucking way,” I said.

We were parking in front of an animal shelter.

“You said anything,” my insane girlfriend responded, getting out of the car, excited as a five-year-old.

“I was talking about sex.”

Noah laughed. “I know. But since this is about me, not you, you’re going to buy me a little kitty.”

Again with the fucking cat! I hated cats—they were stupid; you couldn’t even train them. Plus, they were so needy. They crawled all over you constantly. I preferred a dog. I preferredmydog, dammit! The dog I’d had to leave at my dad’s house because my apartment building didn’t allow them.

“I’ve told you a million times, there’s no way I’m keeping a cat in my apartment.”

Noah glared at me and shook her head. Before she could start back up with her nonsense, I pulled her into my chest and covered her mouth with one hand.

“I’m not buying you a cat. Period.”

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