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We’re right back where we started.
Regardless of what he shared with me and those secret few hours in my room, Ezra and I are back at each other’s throats the second we see each other again.
Thank God for Damon. If not for him, thesefriendshipdates we keep having would be an absolute nightmare.
Oddly, it’s the temperamental brother who keeps things lighthearted, the hot-headed twin who manages to act as a calming influence and prevents constant arguments.
For a few days, I’m so pissed at Ezra I can’t see straight. We spoke a total of five words to each other on the three dates we’ve had.
Damon and I have no problem getting along, and I spent most of my time talking or laughing with him, while Ezra hangs in the background glaring at the two us, his piss poor attitude problem a shroud hanging over everybody.
He’s acting more like a babysitter than a friend, and I have to wonderwhyhe’s so insistent to be a part of this when it’s obvious he’s miserable.
But that’s Ezra. He’s so damn controlled and contained that he can endure hours of doing something he hates without giving up and moving on.
Still the question ofwhylingers.
Why is he insisting on this?
Why won’t he just walk away?
Why is he holding me to an agreement that’s torturing all of us?
Not that I’m trying any harder than him. Not after seeing what he did to Dylan’s friend, and not after Dylan informed me the following morning that Ezra threatened him, too.
I’m just thankful Damon wasn’t there. Once one of them gets to the point of throwing punches, you can bet your ass the other one will jump in to help.
These two would have sent all of those kids to the hospital if given a reason and the opportunity.
I still don’t even know what set Ezra off. I just know the shouting woke me, and when I opened my door to peek into the hall, I saw a kid spitting up blood and Ezra scaring the shit out of people.
On one hand, I’m furious that he hasn’t grown up enough to stop the fighting. But on the other, I have a feeling whatever the twins were put through by their piece of shit father was enough to stunt them both in maturity.
All they know is violence and anger, instead of having been taught how to let things go.
That’s another problem riding my thoughts. Ezra owes me another piece of his story soon, I’m just not sure I want to talk to him and let him tell me.
Not with the way he’s been around me.
Not with the hatred so visible in his eyes.
I’m not sure I should call it hatred, though. If anything, what I see when I look at him is betrayal and pain.
I have to give him credit, though. He’s a master at spoon feeding me so much guilt that I’m choking on it.
To makes things worse, Ivy fled town after playing that prank on Gabe, and while she’s spending her time beach-hopping in sunny California, I’m stuck here without anyone I can talk to.
Not that I could tell herexactlywhat’s going on. I’m still not willing to fully admit how I ended up in this position with the twins in the first place. But it would be nice to have a buffer, or just an excuse for why I can’t be with them all the time.
Yet here I am.
A full week has passed, and I’m walking up to their front door to watch movies and order pizza for our fourth date. Damon opens the door before I have the chance to ring the bell.
Dressed only in a pair of jeans that hang loose and low on his narrow hips, he isn’t making it easy for me to ignore the sculpted planes and hard ridges of his chest and abdomen, the shadow of muscle over his broad shoulders or a set of perfectly defined arms that should be illegal.
My eyes trace the tattoo on his shoulder. It’s identical to Ezra’s.
Seriously, this man is the sweetest of candy, the hard kind that you have to suck on for a while before you reach the -
