Page 62 of His Pet

“I get that you’ve been healing for the past couple days, but we’re going to have to talk about it eventually.”

I expect him to sigh, run a hand through his hair, something that demonstrates he doesn’t want to discuss his obvious regret. My heart pangs and the butterflies in my stomach meld together to make a ball of weight that sinks low in my belly. I try to keep my face impassive, but my lips tug into a frown, and I’m sure he can see hurt in my eyes.

Lorenzo, on the other hand, shows nothing. Not regret. Not interest. Nothing.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Amelia. We fucked. Now I’m calling you by your name, as we agreed.”

The weight sinks lower and then spreads throughout my body. It slumps my shoulders and deepens my frown.

“So that’s it then? You’ve achieved your conquest and now you’re done? No more bullshit ‘you’re so beautiful’s or kisses I don’t ask for?”

“Kind of seems like youareasking for it.” Condescension drips off his tongue and it burns like acid.

Oh my God.

I’m a fucking idiot.

I turn and slowly start toward the cabin.

“Amelia.”

I don’t bother with a response. My cheeks inflame from a cocktail of embarrassment and anger. I don’t know which one of us I’m angry at.

“Amelia,” he presses, catching up to me and grabbing my arm.

I stop and spin toward him with my teeth barred. “Now that you’re done, are you going to fucking let me go? Because I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you and—”

“Yes.”

His face isn’t impassive anymore. His eyes are dark and serious. Certain.

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down. “What?”

“Yes, I’m letting you go. Today, actually.”

I don’t say anything. My lips part and my breathing stops.

The slightest hint of sorrow crosses his expression, and he reaches his hand out toward my face before thinking better of it and bringing it back to his side. “We’re heading back this afternoon. There’s a bus stop I’ll drop you off at along the way, and I’ll give you money to get you started… I don’t want to know where you go. You need to leave Vegas and not return.”

I should be happy. I should be doing fucking cartwheels and on my knees thanking God for letting me live past twenty-five. It’s a new start, a new adventure, and I can make the most of it.

But I’m not happy.

I’m hurt.

So much that I can’t even say anything to him. No words form in my numb mind. I stare, blinking back tears that say what my mouth can’t.

But I like you.

I want you.

I don’t want to leave.

Please don’t throw me out like this. Not like this. Used and beaten like a toy you broke and no longer want.

Just tell me it meant something. That I mean something. Anything, please.

What if I love you?

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