hair told me he was already accepting that it was. He’d never doubt me.
He shook his head slowly.
I said with a scowl of disgust.
His mouth dropped open.
He barked an incredulous laugh.
His mouth dropped open again and took a few seconds to close.
I scowled.
I slid my phone from my back pocket.
I smiled but it fell quickly. Our lives were so royally fucked.
All too aware that our text messages were being monitored, my thumbs flew across the screen of my iPhone.
Me:U guys up for playing hooky? Just had a puke fest on the side of the road. Griff’s with me.
Twenty seconds later, my phone lit up with the first of several messages.
Layla:Yas, bitch! Skool can suck it!
Layla:We’ll stop by the front office on our way out. Tell em U R puking.
Great.
Layla:We’re loading up in Bonnie now. Where we goin?
Me:Treehouse?
Griffin was reading over my shoulder.
My phone buzzed in my hand, but I smiled at him sadly instead of checking it.
He only continued to regard me.
My eyes misted, and he tugged me closer, rubbing his thumb back and forth across my shoulder. I swallowed thickly, certain I’d never get over the terror of losing him—motherfuckingtwice—so long as I lived. Tears slipped free without my permission, rolling down my cheeks. Good thing I wore waterproof mascara and eyeliner.
He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head, and I wanted to freeze time to remember that kiss forever, instead of all the tragedy, all the fucking torment, all the injustice we had no idea how to escape.
And I was thinking of other body parts of his I wanted to get inside me as quickly as possible.
