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I groan, adjusting myself in my pants as I think of her perfect little cunt clench arouover me.
“Fuck,” I groan, sending a text to Billie.
Meet me outside your hotel in 10.
The sun sets against my windshield as I drop it into second gear after picking up Billie.
“I got to say,” Billie whispers from the passenger seat of my car. “I’m impressed by her royal highness,” she purrs, glaring down at her phone. I look over my shoulder and see she’s looking through Tillie’s Instagram. “Cute kid…sorry about that…”
My jaw tenses, my fists tightening around the steering wheel.
“Where are we going?” She places her phone onto her lap.
“To a meet.”
“…and why? Why am I coming to a meet?”
I run my hand over my forehead. “I need your help with something.”
“With what?” Billie says, further forcing my hand.
“I need to break someone,” I murmur.
Billie pauses. “I can’t come to a meet, Nate. It’s not allowed.”
I slam on my brakes, my tires tearing up the asphalt. I breathe in and out. “You’re right. Get out.”
Billie reaches for me and I flinch, pulling away from her.
“Get. Out.”
She spills out of the passenger seat of my car, and I slam it into first gear. She’s right. Billie can’t attend a meet. She’s not a fucking King and she’s definitely not a Stuprum.
Tillie
Sweat drips off my body as I kick the speed up to level 14 on the treadmill. My legs run at a pace that I didn’t even know they were capable of, my eyes going out the front glass windows. “Love Lies” is pulsing through the speakers that are set up in the gym. I left my headphones somewhere and it took me about twenty minutes to figure out how to work his flashy speakers. My thighs burn and my legs ache as I power through, the timer reading 1:34:09. An hour and a half of solid running? Yeah, I had issues coming in here, but I won’t have them going out. The moon is starting to set behind the thick trees and I take in the natural beauty of it. I understand why Brantley built the gym like this now. Not only is it therapy to train, but to train with this view is a whole new level of tranquility.
Movement catches my eyes to the right, near a bush of flowers. I narrow my eyes, but only make out a bright contrast of white between bushes.
What the fuck was that?
It almost looked like…
“A ghost?” I yell, hitting the treadmill off. My feet stop running as I squint my eyes to get a better look. The figure moves again and I freeze.
Not a ghost.
A girl.
I climb off the treadmill quickly, making my way to the glass window. Can she see me? She has the whitest hair I have ever seen in my life. It can’t be natural. She has a round, baby face, and a very, very, petite body. She’s wearing a white sundress that clings to her, while hanging off her all at the same time, and her hair looks to be in an intricate French braid, dangling delicately all the way down to her tail bone.
I tilt my head, but in an instant, her eyes snap up to me.
I still. Either entranced in her pure, innocent beauty, or in the shock of being spotted. She drags her eyes away from mine, I’m unsure whether she can see me or not, but she continues to water the flowers.
“See a ghost?” Brantley asks from the doorway.
I jerk, turning my head over my shoulder slightly. “Maybe.” I shrug. “Who is that?”
He comes up beside me and I physically feel the air shift between us. When he doesn’t answer, I bring my eyes to him.
“Bran?”
His jaw clenches, his thick fists burying into his pockets. “Just a girl.”
“Just a girl?” I ask. “Can I ask who and why she’s here?”
He turns on his heel and storms back out of the gym.
I want to stand here and watch her all night, and I could, because she’s that beautiful. It’s like watching an angel play the harp, you’re entranced, but skeptical. Brantley storms over toward her and her face drops.
I watch the exchange from afar but feel their emotions like they’re being hammered into me at speeds I cannot handle.
Her eyebrows furrow, but she yanks her elbow out of his grip. She doesn’t look angry, she looks—confused.
Her eyes come up to the glass again and I shit you not, I feel her breathing down my neck. This girl is insanity. I’m instantly intrigued, yet a big part of me wants to keep this secret. I want to keep it for Brantley—even for her.
I take a swig of my water and start to step backward, realizing I look like a creeper.
My phone buzzes near the punching bag and I reluctantly make my way toward it, sliding it unlocked.
