Stolen Soulmate (Crowne Point 2)

“Is that any stranger than you using a fucking coin on one?” Gray asked.

West shrugged. “In the mood for something Gray Crowne wants.”

Grayson laughed, but he was tenser than steel beneath me.

Lottie’s brown eyes sparkled in the dark. I didn’t know what any of this meant, why they had coins, and why everyone was watching so tensely; and the last person I wanted to go with was West du Lac, but I knew the look in Lottie’s eyes.

I turned to my shoulder so I could whisper. “Lottie is watching. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Gray cursed so low only I heard—and then shoved me off so I fell to my hands and knees.

I knew then that Gray could feel my butterflies, because he seemed determined to rip their wings off anytime they fluttered.

I stared at my shadow in the shiny floor. I could feel everyone looking at me, their laughs sinking into my back, when West knelt in front of me and gave me his hand.

Everything in me wanted to shove his hand away and spit in his face.

Lottie had moved to sit next to Gray, and his hand was over the chair, his other pushing a loose braid behind her ear.

I blinked at my shadow in the floor, lids suddenly on fire. Why did my chest ache?

“Angel?” West extended his hand farther.

“Don’t call me that,” I muttered.

But I took West’s hand, because it was either that or stay on the floor.

Outside of the shack a few swans lingered on the beach. It was chilly, night air smelling more of cold sand and trees than salt. I shivered, and West handed me his jacket.

I stared at it.

He shook it at me. “Just take it.”

“No.”

We stared at one another.

What did he want from me? The past thirty minutes had been like this, both of us on the verge of saying something.

I’d cried for weeks when West ghosted me, because he didn’t just ghost me, he ghosted me. He went from being my only real friend to nothing, acted like I didn’t exist the next morning.

Then, one Christmas party, I overheard some socialites talking about how West couldn’t stop bragging about how he got some maid to give up her V-card to him. I stopped crying, but I didn’t stop hurting, and I could never really heal.

“So,” West finally said, “you’re letting Grayson Crowne bet your virginity?” He lifted his brows like he wanted me to acknowledge why that was wrong.

I pinched my lips together.

So that was the game we were playing.

“Why not, Mr. du Lac?” I blinked, feigning innocence. “It’s not like someone’s going to come out and say they’ve already had sex with me. That would be just too degrading.”

His stare hardened.

I realized a long time ago the problem with us. Westley du Lac and I were two people who never should’ve crossed paths, should never have spoken to one another, and, somehow, we fell in love. Or at least, I had.

He sighed, then came to my side, draping the jacket over my shoulders. “Angel, that’s not—”

Before West could finish, I was yanked from him, the jacket torn off my body, tossed to the dirt.