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Stalking isn’t in my blood. Girls chase me, not the other way around. Which makes my obsession with Violet Harris a total fucking enigma.
“Your lack of forgiveness won’t hurt Violet, Wes. It’ll only hurt you.” Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll make sure it hurts Violet too.
“How do you know all of them?” “I’ve been to Wes’s games. Under the guise of being a supportive sister, but really, I’m there to check out the rest of the players.”
I wonder what kind of dudes she writes about falling in love with. Not guys like me, that’s for sure. Probably sweet, spineless princes who say whatever she wants to hear. Not the kind of guy who will wrap his belt around her throat and fuck her so hard, her nails tear into the mattress.
I will be judge, jury, and executioner. I’ll get the justice my sister deserves.
Plus, the thought of sitting down to write a whole book is so daunting. I’ve always let the fear stop me. The fear that I won’t come up with any ideas that are worthy of a book. The fear that I’ve spent my whole life loving books and dreaming about being an author, but when I finally put words on the page, I’ll realize that I’m no good at this and I’ll need to let go of the dream I’ve held onto my entire life. The fear that only the people who have lived a life worth writing about can write a book worth reading.
But there’s a reason it’s called a crush and not something nicer. Because falling for someone you know will never want you back is crushing.
“You’re the kind of girl who doesn’t have any confidence in what she says or thinks, even if she’s smarter than everyone else in the room. You’re prettier than you realize. You think you’re lucky just to have a man glance your way, when really a man would be lucky to fall to his knees before you. You think you’re the type of girl who should only want the things that are sweet and nice, even if that’s not what you really want deep down. You’re an iceberg girl—most people only get to see the five percent that’s on the surface, what you choose to show them. But there’s a lot more to you hiding
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“Fuck.” The word is hoarse leaving his throat, a curse and a prayer. “I hope you know what you’ve just unleashed, little flower. You’re not going anywhere now.” There’s no going back. I’m his. I belong to Wes Novak.
I wait for her to ask me to put an end to the torment. To feed me some bullshit line like this isn’t what Chloe would want. But she doesn’t. She means it. The guilt is eating her alive. This whole time, I’ve been wanting to punish her for what she did. But her own mind has been punishing her more severely than I ever could.
What I’ve hated most of all isn’t what Violet did. What I’ve hated is that I’ve kept loving her through all of it, no matter how hard I’ve tried to stop.
“I know, baby. You’re doing amazing. You’re taking my cock like such a fucking good girl.”
His grin widens. “No, this is definitely your fanfiction of me. I want to read it when it’s done.” “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you read it.” But I can’t fight the smile flickering across my face. He still wants to read something I’ve written. “Be sure to dedicate it to me too,” he says, pretending he didn’t hear me. He grabs me by the back of my thighs, wrapping them around him, and returns me to the bed. “Only right to dedicate your story to your muse.”
She’s not buying it, expression dark as she shakes her head. “Violet, you’re a writer. You should know that Wes is not the hero of this story. He’s the villain.”
