Page 154 of Sorrow & Strangers

Max frowns and sits up, leaning on his elbows. “What?”

I grab his shirt and pull it on, enjoying the way I drown in it, but also mourning Connor a fraction. “A mattress on the floor?” I ask, standing up.

Max sits up, his back against the wall. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Gods. You are such a fuckboy,” I say, going to the bathroom, but there is something weirdly comforting about his consistency of being the dictionary definition of a frat boy. He’s never going to want more from me than this, and that is perfect.

“Because I have a mattress?” he calls, his voice full of true bewilderment.

“Because you don’t have a bed frame,” I say, and the memory of being in the stranger’s bedroom flashes into my mind. He had a bed frame. The stranger is not a fuckboy, and he is dangerous in every conceivable way.

I look around the bare bones of a bathroom, unsure that I could even call it that. It has a sink, a toilet, and a shower, but there is no curtain. There is no decor, no reed diffuser, no personal touches. I walk to the sink to wash my hands, and there isn’t even soap. I sigh and wash my hands with water only, and I’m not sure I’m surprised to find there is no hand towel either.

When I walk back into his room, I spend more time taking it in. It’s painted a matcha green and sparsely decorated. There is a mattress strewn with blue blankets, a brown leather love seat, and a rack filled with a selection of weights.

Max has moved to the couch and is lounging, watching some sort of sports game.

“I feel your judgment,” he says, bringing a bottle of beer to his lips and taking a swig.

I sit on the edge of the couch. “I can see why you’re always at the gym.” This place is infinitely more depressing than there.

Max snorts. “I have the essentials.”

I stand and walk back to the mattress, locate my panties, and pull them on.

“Bed, fridge. I’m good.”

“Gods,” I say, pulling my shorts on.

Max snickers, and it surprises me when he opens a textbook and starts reading while the game plays in the background. I always forget that he actually attends the university and isn’t just there for the gym. Probably because I rarely see him in the halls.

I pull his shirt off and replace it with my own.

“Happy we exchanged numbers now?” he asks, throwing me a smirk. Smug prick.

I flip him off and leave his apartment, cursing myself as I walk home for breaking my ten-day streak just because the stranger got under my skin.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

The Stranger

Summer leaves the boy’s apartment to find me standing in her path. My avatar shakes with rage, and the wind whips around us.

“Back off!” she snarls in the face of my anger, unconcerned with my thunderous rage.

She dares to order me? Me? As if I’m not already struggling not to snuff out the boy’s life? I could touch him with my hand and nothing would remain but dust, not even enough to put into an urn to remember him by. I solidify my avatar in front of her, and she slams into my chest as she tries to stalk past me, gasping at the force of the collision.

“You dare?” I snarl into her face. “You enjoy pretending he’s more than a speck of dust in that wall you’re trying to build between us. He won’t ever be what you truly wish he were.” She tries to pull away but I grab her arms, yanking her back, hurling the words she is running from at her. “He won’t ever be me.”

Her eyes flash with defiance. “You sure you want to be this close? While I’m covered in his scent, his sweat? Maybe his cum is dripping out of me right now⁠—”

Summer’s words end in a yelp as I open a portal and hurl her through. I catch her on the other side and slam her back against the wall of my bedroom, rage making my vision cloudy. “Do take care what you’re provoking.”

Who you’re provoking.

She groans at hitting the wall, but her eyes still spark with challenge and anger, stoking my rage further and risking my already tenuous hold on my control.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” I purr dangerously. “They are all distractions for you. Because you hate how much they’re not me.”