“Because if you’re about to say yes to marrying him, you should at least be sure. The response should be immediate.” He closes the space between us. “Do you love him the way you’re supposed to love someone you’re going to spend the rest of your life with? The way that makes you forget everyone else exists. The way that?—”
I push my hands into his chest. “Stop.”
“Why, Thorne?” He cocks his head to the side, coming closer still. “Because you don’t want to admit that you settled? That you were too scared to?—”
“Shut the hell up.”
He laughs in my face. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.
“Why? Want me to keep making it easy for you? That way you can keep pretending you’re the good girl everyone thinks you are. Well, I know?—”
My hand moves unconsciously. One second it’s balled at my side, the next it’s slapping Knox’s cheek, leaving a sharp stinging pain behind.
His head snaps to the side, and for a second, the only movement is the rise and fall of our chests.
Then he looks back at me, and he’s fucking smiling.
“I love when the real you comes out to play,” he says, rubbing at the red mark forming on his cheek. “The real Thorne, not afraid to give it back to me.”
“Fuck. You.”
I accentuate my words with a raise of my middle finger.
“Yeah, yeah. You’ve already said that.”
My phone chimes again, but this time I don’t look at it. I can’t.
He has a ring.
Instead, I look Knox dead in the eyes and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you riding Velocity or not?”
Knox tilts his head, studying me. “Thought you were waiting for Owen.”
I raise a brow already chastising myself for what I’m about to say. “Owen’s not here. And I’m tired of waiting.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and there’s a glint in his eyes that reminds me of the old Knox. It sends heat racing down my spine.
“You’re going to regret this,” he says, as he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the ride.
“Probably.”
“He’s going to be pissed when he finds out you went without him.”
“I know.”
“And you’re doing it anyway?”
I don’t answer. There’s nothing else I can say. I just let him pull me forward through the crowd, his hand warm and firm around mine.
We reach the entrance to Velocity, and Knox finally drops my hand to pull out his phone. He scans our fast passes at the electronic reader, and the attendant, a girl who looks barely old enough to work here, waves us through to the express lane.
Instead of going straight to the queue, we’re directed to stacked metal lockers lining the wall.
Another attendant repeats his mantra, sounding like he’d do anything to be done with his shift. “All items must be locked in lockers. Phones, bags, hats, sunglasses…”
Knox finds an open locker and starts punching numbers into the keypad. It chirps, letting us know that we’re good to go.
“Come on,” he says, tossing his sunglasses inside. He’s reaching into his pocket for his phone and wallet, but I hesitate, clutching my crossbody bag. My phone chimes inside it. Knox holds out his hand, waiting.
