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Two kids who didn’t know any better.
But now we’re putting on an act, and I am blind to our direction. Which means the direction is mine for the taking, isn’t it?
Whatever Knox thinks about me, however he envisions this going… I will derail it.
I guess, in a way,let the show begin.
23
KNOX
Knockout.
Fuck.
She’s so fucking pretty I just can’t stand it. In the pettiest of ways, I want to drag a knife down her cheeks and permanently scar her, just so only I find her beautiful.
So no other guy is tempted to look at her.
She doesn’t ask questions when I hold the door open for her, ushering her first into the hall, then the elevator, then out past the doorman.
The new doorman, might I add. After a little chat with the manager, we determined that Jerry’s best plan of action was to leave the country. I know a lawyer or two, and I threatened every lawsuit I could come up with. Some might’ve been made up, but whatever.
It was a fun conversation nonetheless.
Jacob was there to back me up, the dark-haired, big-muscled scary guard dog to my more friendly face. Sometimes people don’t take me seriously because I seem so nice. Charming. I mean, it’s how I got Willow to fall for my bullshit for a whole year. Convinced her to love me.
I get an unexpected twinge of guilt over that. But it dissipates when I focus back on Aurora. My heart goes all cold and frozen again. Back to our regularly scheduled broadcasting.
We sit in silence in the back of the hired car. She looks out the window, I scroll my phone. Through the hundreds of numbers I’ve collected over the years. Girls, mainly. Sometimes the random guy tried to pick me up, and I humored them just long enough to flirt via text. But dicks aren’t really my thing, so… polite pass. Or, most of the time,politeghost.
Without warning, Aurora snatches my phone from my hand.
“Mandy Big Tits,” she reads.
I roll my eyes.
“Marcy Blue Hair. Maria the Columbian. What the fuck, Knox?”
“Maria was particularly good at speaking Spanish while being fucked from behind.” I smile at her. “You can put that in your next book.”
She scrolls. “Rebecca Christmas Lady. Sandy Sugar Rim Margaritas. Serena Folded Chair. What does that even mean?”
“She sucked me off in one of those folding metal chairs. It was at some event.” I shift. “No need to get so defensive.”
“And what am I under?” She zooms up to the top of my contacts—it takes her a good minute—and starts typing.
Aurora—nope.
Rory—not a chance.
Sunshine—getting closer.
Aw, sweet little devil even types inwife.
“Come on, Sunny, I thought you were smarter than that,” I whisper in her ear.
She shudders.
