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No, I’d never had a mine. Until right the fuck now. She was still staring at me. Go ahead, princess, stare all you want.
If she wanted to flirt with someone, she could flirt with me. And if that jackass touched her, I was punching a hole through his head with my already clenched fist.
“Such a fucking sweet cherry,” he growled, and his eyes flashed silver. “And mine. All mine. You hear me, princess? This means you belong to me now. Some other asshole touches you, this Tom comes near you?” he sneered. “I’ll motherfucking destroy him.”
It didn’t matter that she was the enemy, that I hated her for trying to ruin Coach’s life. She was mine, and no one else in the whole fucking world got to talk to her that way. Only me. I’d address the hypocrisy of that later.
She shook her head. “Jack, it doesn’t matter how much snooping you do. Until you realize I’m not a liar, you won’t know me at all.” With that shit-stirring statement, she went silent, and didn’t speak a word to me for the rest of the drive. She was lying. She had to be. Because if she wasn’t, then she wasn’t the one living in a house of cards. I was.
“I look okay?” I asked Tovah. “You look like you’re about to be sacrificed on the funeral pyre of Jack Feldman’s crazy, but you’ll look hot as you burn,” she said. “Well, as long as I look hot,” I joked.
She glanced over to where I was staring. “You can’t kill him,” she said immediately. “I know it would be fun, but I don’t want to visit you in prison.” My teeth ground together. “You’d get used to it.”
“I need a drink, and a snack.” And maybe a lobotomy.
“Why are you? I didn’t take you for a hockey fan either, professor.” “I told you, call me Dylan.” “Okay, Dylan,” I said. “But only because we aren’t in class.” “Please,” he looked around. “You’re destroying my cover.”
“Well,” Tovah said. “Shit.” I sat back down, aware of dozens, maybe hundreds, of eyes on me. “You can say that again,” I muttered. “Well. Shit.”
“So what the hell do I do?” “Go fuck her until she can’t see straight and you get your equilibrium back,” Judah said, coming up behind us and slapping me on the shoulder. Isaac groaned. “I was going to suggest apologizing.”
“Do.” Slam. “Not.” Slam. “Tell.” Slam. “Me.” Slam. “What I can and cannot do when it comes to you.”
Mine, his kisses said. Mine. And this time, I welcomed it. Mine, my kiss said back. Yours, his agreed. Little fury, he’d called me. And I liked it.
If Aviva wanted to burn the world down, I’d help her. If she wanted to burn my world down, I’d hand her the match.
Every other time, he’d chased me, caught me, brought me back. But this time he didn’t. And that hurt most of all.
“Hate how much you need me.” “Yes!” He met my gaze in the mirror, his gray eyes dark, hard, desperate, pained. And his next words gave me vertigo. “Hate how much you love me.” Assaulted by vertigo, I lost my footing, and he caught me, lifting me up so my feet dangled off the floor as he shoved deep in me and stayed there. “No, Jack, I—" I tried to deny the words even as they sank their truth into me. He interrupted me, whispering his next words brokenly into my ear. “Because believe me, I fucking hate how much I love you.”
“I hate you,” I told her again, because I loved her, and the two four-letter words were beginning to sound like the same thing.
Aviva was right. I was a liar. I was lying to myself. Because she hadn’t said yes. She’d said no.
Tovah had sent me a text: there’s a car here? for you? to take you to the hockey game? ???????? CAN I FINALLY MURDER HIM?
“Jack, put me down.” “I like carrying you like this,” he said. “It’s good practice for our wedding.” Okay. None of that.
Aviva, I love you. Aviva, I’m sorry.
Jack, I love you. Jack, I’m sorry.
“Do you love me?” “Of course I do.” “Then marry me.” “Fine,” she grumbled. “As if you’re giving me a choice.” I smiled and bent my head to kiss her hair. “I’m not.”
Behind me, Marcus coughed. “Get a room, you two.” Beside him, Micah chuckled. “I’m sure they will. After the game.” Jack ignored them, but I knew he was glad his brothers were here. I was glad they were finally mending their relationships. “God, do you have to make jokes like that?” Asher complained. “She’s my sister. It’s disgusting,” he said, turning to me. “You’re disgusting.”
