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The only thing worse than having a ‘one that got away’ is knowing you’re the one who pushed her to leave.
I have zero interest in anything more serious than that. Relationships only complicate things, especially when you have faulty emotional wiring like me.
I have very few regrets in life, and all of them involve her.
It's a lie. There's a huge problem. Seventy-six inches of problem. Two hundred and twenty sculpted pounds of problem. A four-letter problem. Nash.
“Because anyone else would tell Christina and Coach Ward to bench you.”
Violet is a dirty talking goddess. She’s also kinky. I’m talking, we-had-a-safe word, kind of kinky.
“Listen, fuckers.” All eyes in the room fall to me. “All any of you need to know is that Violet is one hundred percent out-of-bounds. If any of you even think about touching her, it’ll be a career-ending move. Because I will end you. Immediately.”
I want those goddamn butterflies—and only Mr. Wrong has ever given them to me.
The apprehension on her face grows with every stride I take. I guess I deserve that, too, though somehow it hurts more than anything she could ever say.
But broken people break things, and I leave behind a path of destruction in my wake.
As much as I hate my dad sometimes, I still crave his praise. I hate myself for that, too. I know I’m never going to get it.
Daddy issues.
Spending time with Nash is like putting my heart up for target practice.
“I thought you said we couldn’t be friends,” I blurt, stepping off the curb to cross a utility road. His gaze slides over to me. “We can’t.” “Then why do you care what happens to me?” We slow to a stop under a yellow-tinted streetlamp. It casts half of his face in shadows, making him even more difficult to read than usual. “Same reason I can’t be your friend.”
“Sometimes. I mean, it’s not all roses and champagne with three young kids. But when he kisses me…” She bites her bottom lip, her cheeks pulling into a smile, and I could swear, she literally glows. “Yes, I still feel them.”
Connor doesn’t understand what it’s like to be so hung up on someone, you can’t even fathom the idea of sleeping with someone else. And it’s not a debate I care to get into here, of all places.
How can he be Mr. Wrong when he’s the only one who’s ever made me feel this way?
“I’m sorry, Vi.” “For what?” I whisper. “Everything.” A terse frown brackets his mouth. “For how things ended. All of it.”
I’ve never been so present in the moment. Not anticipating what’s happening next, not worrying about what just happened. Right here, right now, she’s the only thing that matters.
