The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play #2) - B.B. Reid Page 0,45
we did lately was argue and spew venom. There was this unspoken tension between us that hadn’t been there before, and for some reason, neither of us dared bring it up.
“What are you doing here?” I didn’t sound the least bit welcoming, but if he noticed my mood, he didn’t let on.
“Surprising you.”
I gave him a mocking smile. “Don’t you have innocent people to terrorize?”
His brows drew together, and then he was stepping out of the car and towering over me. Not only did he smell really clean and masculine but he also looked deliciously formidable as ever in his usual simple attire of dark jeans and a white T-shirt. During the warmer months, he usually opted for sneakers instead of boots and the faded black hoodie he currently wore instead of his brown distressed leather jacket. Or as many of his admirers preferred, no jacket at all. The way his muscles pushed against his T-shirt left little to the imagination, not that it kept his fans from dreaming anyway. For most of us—them—it was all they’d ever have.
“Problem?” he asked me.
“Do you hurt them?”
“Who?” he demanded as if I were the one under the line of fire.
“The people you take money from.”
If possible, his eyebrows dipped even lower. “Who have you been talking to?”
“Does it matter? He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
Callously, he stepped back and leaned against his car as if he truly didn’t have a care in the world. “Then what’s with the attitude?”
“Just because I know what you are doesn’t mean I’m okay with it!”
“A little late to be self-righteous,” he remarked, his tone and his gaze dismissive.
“Screw you.”
My attempt to storm away, however, was swiftly thwarted by his hand gripping my arm. He dragged me close, nostrils flaring and breathing fire until he had me pressed against his hard chest. “Don’t you fucking walk away from me.”
All pretense of nonchalance had been swept away.
“Or what?” I challenged.
“You really want to peek behind that curtain?”
He pressed closer, and it was then that I felt his other hand—on my hip—squeezing. I wasn’t sure he was even aware of it—as if it had naturally fallen there. My lips parted as my heart sped up and the urge to press my legs together mounted.
Maybe I did.
But like always, as quick as the thought formed, I brushed it aside. Wren and I weren’t the types of friends to share anything more than our time and loyalty. I didn’t know all of his secrets, and he didn’t know mine. The fact that we were content to keep this wall erected between us ironically was what made us the best of friends. It was a load-bearing kind that would turn our friendship into rubble if we ever tore it down.
I didn’t look away, didn’t dare cower. If I had, I wouldn’t have seen the plea in his stormy blue gaze.
“You and I both know,” he snapped as he gripped me tighter, “that I’m not the only one afraid of what’s behind there.”
I snatched away when I felt the sting of his rejection all over again. “And I distinctly remember you being the reason.”
He looked ready to grab me again, but at the look I sent him, he plowed his fingers through his hair instead. “You were sixteen, Lou. What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, but you weren’t supposed to lie to me!” I wanted to scream some more, but the surge of anger I felt quickly faded away as my shoulders sagged and a tear escaped. “You weren’t supposed to make me look like a fool.”
His lips parted, but when he said nothing, I turned and ran away, leaving him standing alone on the street.
One Year Ago
“YOU’RE LATE!” I SCREECHED OVER the sound of pouring rain and thunder.
A soaking wet Wren winced at my shrill tone as he climbed through my bedroom window cloaked in black from head to toe. My stomach turned because I knew what the dark clothing meant, but I chose not to fixate on it. Tonight was the season two premiere of The 100, and I didn’t want to miss a second of Bellamy Blake. I was convinced there was no one like him, so broken yet he gave and gave and gave.
“I was getting the damn milkshake you asked for. At the last minute.”
My irritation dissipated at the sight of the chocolate shake in his hand. Without an apology or word of thanks, I snatched the shake from him and began devouring