“I’ve gotta lie down,” Dallas announces. His eyes watering like crazy again; he can barely keep them open.

“Okay. I’ll just get t-this ready for you and Cole can bring it up. Leave the comp-presses on your eyes and don’t rub.”

“Why can’t you bring it?” he shoots back.

Ummm…to his bedroom? The tell-tale sign of warmth starts to slow-crawl up my neck.

“Uhh––”

“I’ll be in my bedroom, trying not to cry out in pain from your vicious assault.”

Well, nuts.

He walks away without waiting for a response. Five minutes later, I carry the remedy upstairs and knock on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” he calls out.

It feels like a breech of privacy to be in here, in his bedroom, the one where he entertains the legions of bookends he probably has on speed dial. This is so uncomfortable. And I don’t dare look around. No. I head straight to the nightstand with imaginary blinders on and place the bowl on the bedside table. Then I step back and clear my throat, indicating that I’m about to take off.

He sits up, throws his legs over the bed, blinking rapidly. I feel terrible.

“T-Try and k-keep these on your eyes as long as you can. It’s really the best r-remedy to neutralize the irritation.”

He nods. “Thanks.”

“Please don’t thank me. I-I am so so sorry this happened…” Then I remember. “W-Why did this happen?”

“Because somebody trained you to be a killer, then unleashed you on an unsuspecting general population.”

That makes me unexpectedly laugh. “I m-mean, why were you f-following me?”

He looks momentarily surprised, his brow wrinkling in the most adorable frown. Then he shoves his hand into his track pants and pulls out a phone. And not just any phone…my phone.

He holds it up in his palm and we both stare at it. There’s a gigantic crack in the screen.

“You’ve had my phone this w-w-whole time?” That’s a rhetorical question. It’s obvious he has. My stomach sinks to the floor and the gentle whisper that I have been played a fool turns into a battle cry. Taking it from him, I inspect the damage closer.

“I’m sorry. It must’ve broken when I hit the ground. I’ll replace it.”

My head starts shaking before he finishes. “I-I d-don’t want anything, not f-from you.”

“Dora, I’m…” His voice peters out.

When I finally glance up, he looks unbearably uncomfortable and it has nothing to do with the angry irritation around his eyes. He looks ashamed. As he should.

My thoughts start to splinter into different directions and possibilities. He preys on people lesser than him for entertainment. Is that what he does? Is that who he is? Someone callous and spoiled. And what’s worse is that I was certain there was more to him. I thought beneath the party boy was a decent person with depth and intelligence…I guess I saw what I wanted to see.

“Do your f-friends know?” My prior assessment of Brock didn’t age well. Was he in on it too?

“That’s not––”

“W-Were you all l-laughing at me?” I chew on the inside of my cheek to stop my lips from trembling, hating that I can’t keep it together right now.

“No! No. I was going to––”

“D-Did you l-look through it?”

As soon as I turn the phone on, I know what I’m going to find. It’s not locked. His gaze darts away, which is basically an admission of guilt. And the threat of tears makes me look away for a brief moment.

Breathless from disappointment, I back out of the room, open the door to leave, and stop. That’s when––inexplicably––the fire in my belly flares again. “Y-You’re nothing but an empty vessel. Everything is a game to you. No matter who you h-hurt.”

I’ve never in my life said something so mean or spiteful, spoken with the express intent of hurting another person’s feelings. That’s not how I’m wired. I’ve been the target of attacks a few times too many and would never inflict that pain on someone else. And yet here I am.

Squinting, his cheeks infuse with color. There’s no mistaking that I’ve hit a sore spot because he looks genuinely mad for once. “You ever need someone to take that V-card off your hands let me know. I consider it my civic duty to make sure your first sexual experience is a great one.”

Flushing red-hot, I close the door and leave.

Chapter Eight

The surf before me stands two stories high, the sky overhead a muddy gray. In the distant horizon, thunderheads charge toward the shoreline.

My head should be in the game. Better surfers than I have died at Mavericks but it isn’t. It’s on something entirely different and equally dangerous. I can’t get this girl out of my head and I have to before she gets me killed.

It never even occurred to me that she would think I was pranking her. Fuck. I feel terrible. I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody, least of all her. I actually like her.

Tags: P. Dangelico Malibu University Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net