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“Whydidyou drink so much?”
He removed his arm from over his eyes and looked at her. He didn’t speak for long seconds, and she didn’t know if he’d actually respond. But then he cleared his throat and turned his focus to the ceiling. “I just have my own shit I’m dealing with, and I guess I can’t talk to anyone but a liquor bottle.”
She knitted her brows and moved closer. “Rebel, you know you can talk to me about anything.”
He shook his head but didn’t respond. Rebel sat up again and grabbed his shirt from behind his back, pulled it up and over his head, and tossed it aside. The sight of his hard body had everything in her tensing. He lay back down and covered his eyes with his arm again.
The room grew silent, and Rosie knew this conversation was done. It didn’t take long before she heard the deep, even sound of him breathing, and knew he was asleep, or better yet, passed out.
Rosie sat on the bed beside him and just watched his broad, muscular chest rise and fall. He had a tattoo on his side, a Mayan calendar that was intricate as it was beautiful. Letting out a deep sigh she stood and was about to head back upstairs when Rebel reached out and grabbed her hand with his.
She froze and looked at him. His eyes were open and trained on her, but they were glossy, and she doubted he’d remember any of this come morning. He was just too drunk.
“You’re too fucking good for any of this.”
She knitted her brows and placed her other hand over his, curling her fingers against his warm flesh. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, and it had everything to do with the fact this one touch sent tingles of awareness through her.
She looked a mess right now, certainly not like the girls he’d dated in the past. She’d always thought of herself as frumpy and the “plain Jane” type of girl. The girls Rebel tended to go after were the complete opposite.
But in this moment, when he wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings, she could let her guard down, even for a second.
She smoothed her fingers over his bigger ones and stared into his eyes. “What do you mean?” She shouldn’t have asked, because he was intoxicated, and his ramblings probably wouldn’t be coherent.
“Too good for this fucking town, for the people that live here, and for…” He closed his eyes and pulled his hand away, rubbing his forehead. “I’m too drunk. I need to keep my mouth shut.” He opened his eyes and looked at her again. “Thanks for getting me to bed, Rosie.”
She loved how he said her name, all thick and sleep-like. His wall of reserve wasn’t as high right now, but if she didn’t leave she might find herself saying something she’d regret, something he may even remember come morning.
“Any time. I just wish you’d go easy with the drinking and partying.” That was true, but on the other hand his wild side was an aphrodisiac.
Rebel was not the type of guy to be messed with, that was for sure, and everyone knew it in school. But whatever demons he was fighting, made him lose control.
“I know, Rosie,” he responded and gave her a smirk. “I needed a different painkiller, that’s for fucking sure.” And then he turned to his side and within a few moments she heard him sleeping once more, the sounds of his breathing deep and even.
Yeah, she was so lost in this boy.
I love you so much, Rebel, and it’s in a way that would probably have condemnation coming down on me. But none of that would matter if you loved me back.
ChapterThree
Two days later
Rosie grabbed her backpack off the kitchen table just as Rebel came walking in, bags under his eyes and his blond hair disheveled.
“Morning, sunshine,” he said in a husky voice, his focus on the floor despite the fact he addressed her.
“You look like crap,” she said, teasing.
He lifted his head and glared, but he was smiling. “I forgot I had some shitty report to finish for today.”
“Wait, you, Rebel Bronson, stayed up to do homework?” Rosie started laughing.
He flipped her off goodheartedly as he made his way over to the fridge. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have given a shit if it was done or not, but if I didn’t turn something readable in I would have failed the damn class.”
He grabbed the container of orange juice and braced himself up on the fridge door.
“As it is I’m barely scraping by in that class.” He opened the carton and drank straight from it. Her mother came in and lightly smacked him on the shoulder.
“Aidan, get a glass.” Her mother and his father never called him Rebel, which she knew he hated.
