“Michael, for nine years—check it, nine years—I've avoided any real relationships.” “Exactly my point,” he says, violet eyes accusatory as he pulls out a cigarette and lights up, his leather jacket slung over his shoulders, looking the part of the classic bad boy with his tattoos, long razored hair, and eyeliner. I know who I'm supposed to be—the nice one, the boy next door, the good guy—but all I feel like right now is the dick. “Nine years. That's a long time to punish yourself, Park.” I breathe out, long and low, and run my fingers through my hair. Man, I'm almost thirty years old. Thirty.
...more
