Page 83 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

Because he’s already looking at me. Standing in direct view and in a group of his teammates, he already has his eyes on me. He always does, doesn’t he? Whether I can tell or not.

After making me swallow that pill, he left me alone.

Before I could stop him, he left the room altogether, probably to go to his and get changed.

Because a few minutes later, while I was sobbing on the bathroom floor, there was a knock at the door.

It was Snow, telling me that everyone was ready and waiting, including him.

I got ready as soon as I could, ignoring the pain in my chest, and rushed downstairs to the ornate lobby.

We rode in the car together but because Snow and Conrad and Wyn were with us, we didn’t have a moment to chat about what happened.

An hour later, we still haven’t gotten that moment.

I didn’t think I’d have that until the end of the night when we got back. And since he’s not really good at talking, I knew I’d have to be the one to broach the subject, to take the lead. Although I still don’t know what I would say to him.

What do you say to the person you’ve woven a dream with? What do you say to the man you’ve dreamed a dream and wished a wish with? You tell him you love him. And then you tell him he loves you back.

Because he does.

He does, he does, he does .

Oh God, he does.

My heart comes back up, pounding, racing, soaring . As if blasting off from the bottom of my stomach, my soul like a star. That soccer ball he used to shatter my window and get to me.

How did I not see that before? It’s so obvious.

It’s so easy to spot. So easy that a girl who hasn’t even seen him in weeks could do it.

So easy with how his eyes always seem to find me.

The way he loses his mind when I’m away, the way he’s been so restless these past few weeks.

The way he’s obsessed with everything I do.

The little things, the big things. Things I didn’t even know about myself like watching action movies with my nose scrunched; we watched a movie on Netflix last night and he told me that.

Or that the reason I always get a burger is because I want to eat the fries.

Because I always only finish half my burger but practically gulp down all the fries.

It's so obvious the way he wants a family with me. It’s not to fill a gap in his life or to get over his past love.

It’s because he loves me. And yes, he said he couldn’t love again but love is not a choice.

You don’t get to choose whether or not you fall in love.

You can’t tell yourself to not love someone any more than you can tell yourself to get over someone.

Besides, don’t I know by now that he has so many walls erected around his emotions, his heart, his soul that he doesn’t even realize everything he feels?

He didn’t give me the pill because he can’t love me.

He gave it to me because he does. Because he thinks his dream of a family with me—and it is a dream, isn’t it, and he probably doesn’t even know it—will take my dream of college and exploring things away.

And he can’t do that. He can’t be selfish.

He can’t hurt me that way, so he hurt himself and pushed that pill down my throat. So I could get everything I wanted.

But everything I ever wanted is him.

He’s my most precious dream, my biggest desire, always out of reach, always untouchable. A life with him is something I’ve always wanted but was too afraid to even think about, let alone reach for. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see the truth before. That he loves me.

Me .

Forgetting Isadora and everyone else around me, I spring up from my seat.

Keeping my eyes locked with him, I take a step back.

And even though we’re far apart, he still notices and goes alert, his body snapping taut.

I take another step back and his eyes narrow.

Another and his chest expands with a sharp breath under his t-shirt.

He’s getting angry. Like he always does when I retreat from him.

He’s warned me over and over again what will happen if I run from him.

So I keep backing away. I keep making him angry.

Because let him be mad. Let him get flooded by anger, by all the emotions, all the feelings he tries so hard not to feel.

And when he catches me, I’ll show him. I’ll show him he can feel whatever he wants to, he can do whatever he wants to with me.

I’ll show him he is safe with me. Like I’m safe with him.

I’ll show him he can love me because I love him back.

I turn around and start running. I rush through the crowd and make for the French doors.

I burst through them and feel the crisp night air.

The grounds are vast and lit up by lampposts but beyond that there’s a maze, tall and made of hedges.

I take off toward them. It’s a crazy choice and there’s always a chance I’ll get lost. But I don’t care.

I know he’ll find me. I know he won’t let me get lost.

I run and run and enter the maze, dark but not scary.

The night is alive with chirping crickets and a light breeze.

There are a million of stars up in the sky just like freckles on my body.

His favorite and I let them guide me. I turn far too many corners to know where I’m going or where I’ll end up, but I know this is me running toward him even if it doesn’t look like it.

I know that any second now I’m going to reach him.

And I do.

Just as I’m turning another corner, he grabs me from behind.

Just like he did all those months ago at The Horny Bard.

His arm catches me around the waist, and he literally plucks me off the ground, my heels almost midair.

My spine goes crashing against his chest and the air leaves me in an oomph .

But instead of any discomfort, all I feel is relief.

Instead of any pain from his violent grip and hard body, all I feel is joy.

He carries me a few steps ahead before putting me down on the ground and spinning me around.

He crowds me against one of the hedges and I realize they have prickly vines and scrambling branches.

They dig into my upper back, my bare shoulders, my arms, my neck and I smile.

Isn’t it the most fitting thing in the world that I’m being stared down by the Wrecking Thorn, all angry and violent, while real thorns bite my skin?

I love it. I love him. And he loves me .

I love it when he realizes there are thorny twigs at my back, he snatches me around the waist again and tugs me toward him. Then, his chest pressing into mine, his eyes fuming, he growls, “What the fuck are you doing?”

I slid my hands along his biceps and clutch his shoulders. “You caught me.”

He squeezes his arms around me, making me go up on my tiptoes. “Fuck yeah, I caught you. What the fuck were you thinking? You could get lost in here.”

I shake my head. “You would’ve found me.”

His eyes take in my features, still frantic, still angry. “Did Isadora say something to you?”

My heart twitches. “You said her name.”

“What?”

“You never say her name,” I tell him like he doesn’t know.

His nostrils flare, something passing through his features. “Did she say something to you? Is that why you ran out of there like a fucking maniac?”

Just that you love me and I’m perfect for you.

Instead, I say, “I ran because you told me not to.”

He grates his jaw, his features turning violent, his grip turning violent too. It hurts so good I can’t stop the shiver that goes through my body. “So you ran to fuck with me.”

I lick my lips. “No, I ran because I wanna be your good girl.”

He’s surprised by my words. His chest shudders a little bit and his eyes loses some of their ire.

And I take advantage of that. I get out of his hold and push him back.

Before either of us can take another breath—because I know his are suspended just like mine—I drop down on my knees.

Gripping his jean-covered thighs and looking up, I say, “Please, let me be your good girl. I wanna be your good girl, Shepard.”

Please let me be your girl. Because I already am. For now and for always.

He stares down at me for a long time, and I let him. I keep my face upturned, my neck craned. I keep my palms on his taut thighs and let him look at me. I let him study every inch of my face, every inch of my body.

My lips are painted red because I know he thinks it makes my mouth more tempting.

My hair’s loose and falling down my back in red waves, like he prefers.

My face is makeup free so my freckles get the center stage, again just like he likes it.

I’m wearing the dress he picked out for me.

Not to mention, I’m on my knees, his favorite pose, submissive and soft.

I’m all dolled up according to his preference and God, I really hope he lets me be his good girl because I’m dying to be. I’m dying to be so good for him, dying to serve him. Born to serve him. I know now.

He takes me in until his chest goes up and down like the wave.

Until something changes in him. It makes him look bigger, larger and stronger.

So dominating and so pervasive. It makes him look both threatening and safe.

Then, clenching his jaw and putting a hand on my head, he rumbles, “You know what that means, being my good girl?”

I press my hands on his thighs, my heart racing and racing and yet at peace somehow. “It means I’m yours.”

“Fuck yeah, you are,” he agrees, his eyes narrowed.

“All of me.”

“Every single fucking inch of you.”

I stretch my neck up even more. “It means you own me.”

He flicks his eyes over my form once again. “I own you.”

“It means I let you do whatever you wanna do.”

“To you.”

“To me.”

Another flick of his eyes. Then, he mutters, as if to himself, “Yeah, you and everything about you belong to me.”