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“Ivy suggested it,” he admits on a rushed breath, like he’s too embarrassed to say that much, “but I’m not sure I’m feeling it anymore.”
Oh, Ezra...
I look at him, and I know only hunger, feel only the deepest craving. My fingers curl with the need to touch him, my head foggy, my body heavy. It’s pure need when I look at him. When I’m near him. When the brush of his cold fury becomes a heart-stopping control in bed.
Ezra, in so many ways, is a walking cruelty.
He is the only person I want, yet the only person I can never have.
He tortures me, this man.
And I haunt him.
Beyond that is the merciless impact we have on each other’s hearts. The only question now is whose will is stronger? That of a man who embodies violence, or mine?
I’d like to think it’s mine.
“Suggested it for what? I thought I was meeting Ivy here.”
I’ll kill her for this. For not only putting me in a position where I have to reject Ezraagain, but also in one where another scar is carved into my heart.
How many times do I have to let go before it’s the final time? How many times do I have to retreat to my room to grieve?
Because Iamgrieving.
Especially now that I have him in front of me. It’s like a person dying and yet their ghost never leaves. Youcan’tmove on until every part of them is gone.
I can clearly see him battling what he wants to say, and the sad truth is he doesn’t have to say it. I already know.
“I want you to give us a shot. Just me and you. Nobody else.”
He says it like it’s easy. Fury filters through me, my pulse picking up to think about how we ended up here and why.
I was nothing more than a bet. A game. An amusement when Ezra first cornered me in high school.
Both he and Damon pulled their typical stunt of switching out for each other. If anything, this is a consequence of that.
So how does he think he can cut other people out now? Especially when the person who made the bet with him is the same one I’m supposed to marry?
The more I look at the entire picture, the angrier I get. And yes, I had a part in it. I accepted the first six weeks of fun with two boys.
I did that.
Regardless of how it started, regardless of who is at fault, this is still where we ended up, and nothing we say or do now can change it.
Why can he not see it?
Why do I have to be the strong one?
“We can’t do this,” I answer, more tears in my eyes that I’m tired of crying.
It’s all I have to say.
Rather than waiting for his argument, I turn to open the door and leave, but he slaps his palm against it to prevent me from walking out.
I wince at the sound, my back pressed against the wood as he cages me in with his arms, his head dipping down in the way that always sets my heart in my throat with hard, steady pounding.
Ezra grips my chin with his fingers and presses a soft kiss to my mouth, my body reacting to that small contact with need while my mind scrabbles to hold on to every reason this can’t happen.
