very names, our fate. Our catastrophe. Our destruction.
“You said that our names made us Shakespearean, star-crossed lovers,” he says, bringing me back to the moment. “A teenage tragedy. And I told you that they didn’t. Because what did fucking Shakespeare know? To me, you’ll always be Fae. And to you, I’ll always be Roman.”
That’s what I used to call him, Roman. Not Reed.
Because back then I was a fool. I thought he belonged to me like I belonged to him.
So like arrogant, defiant lovers, we gave each other secret names, names only meant for us: Roman and Fae.
What a stupid idea to call each other by different names.
What a stupid fucking thing: first love.
One minute it’s life and the next, it’s death.
That’s what it felt like when he broke my heart. That I’d died and so in this moment, I pull myself together and straighten my spine.
It’s hard but it needs to be done.
When you fall in love with a quicksand of a guy like him, you need to be strong.
Your heart needs to be made of iron and your spine needs to be forged out of steel so you can look him in the eyes and tell him, “I remember. I remember everything. I remember everything I said to you and everything you said to me. And that’s why I know that we are a teenage tragedy. Because you made sure of that, didn’t you?” I clench my teeth for a second because I feel a pain starting up in my chest, traveling up to my jaw, my temples, stinging my eyes. “So get away from me because I wasn’t kidding about you losing your teeth. Reed.”
For a few seconds after I’m done, it feels like I haven’t spoken at all.
Because he doesn’t move. In fact, he bends down toward me even more.
Our eyes are connected, his gaze calm and scrutinizing while mine is wide and fearful of his intentions. A microsecond later, I feel something happening, something slipping from my fingers before he straightens back up.
It’s my bottle. He stole my whiskey from me.
I fist my empty hands. “Give it back.”
Again instead of obeying me, he throws his head back and swallows down a huge gulp of my whiskey. Asshole.
When he’s done, his red lips glisten and his face sparkles like the moon. “See you around, Fae.”
And then he’s gone and I can breathe.
But it’s not as glorious, to be able to breathe, as I thought it would be.
Because with every breath that I take, I think of him.
I think of how beautiful he is, how gorgeous. How he looks like a prince. A hero. And how it’s all a façade.
Because he’s anything but a hero. He’s a villain.
A gorgeous villain.
Two years ago, Reed Jackson betrayed Calliope Thorne and broke her heart. So she stole his most prized possession – a white mustang – and drove it into the lake for revenge.
Now, Callie is stuck at a reform school while Reed is off at college, living his life without repercussions.
Until he comes back.
With him comes back all the feelings that Callie has been trying to bury: anger and heartbreak.
But most of all, desire. At the sight of his beautiful but lying lips and his gunmetal gray eyes that still taunt and smolder when he looks at her.
Whatever though. It’s not as if Callie is ever going to fall for her ex-boyfriend again. Or let him corner her in a bar one night and touch her, kiss her…
Neither is she going to kiss him back. Or worse, sleep with him.
Because that would make her naïve and foolish.
Oh, and also pregnant.
And there’s no way Callie is ever going to get pregnant at eighteen and with Reed’s baby, no less. The guy she hates.
The guy who taught her all about heartbreak. Who might look like a gorgeous hero but really is the villain of her story.
Coming 2021
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These Thorn Kisses
(St. Mary’s Rebels Book 3)
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Hey, Mister Marshall
(St. Mary’s Rebels Book 4)
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