I pull back and see angry tears in her blue eyes. Moving my hand around her neck, I trail my fingers softly down over her collarbone and push her blond hair back from her shoulder, noticing that her hickeys are gone. I have an urge to lean in and give her more just because I can.
She bares her perfectly straight teeth at me. I remember when she had braces during her freshman year. I thought it was strange. Her teeth were already straight, but her mother made her get them anyway. You can never be perfect enough for Angelica Holt. “I don’t want to be her, Deke.”
I bite back a snarky comment at her words and look over her pouty lips and sad blue eyes. I think it’s the first real thing she’s ever said to me. “Then what is it you want?”
She closes her eyes and lets out a long breath. The fruity smell of her wine hits my face. “It doesn’t matter what I want. It never has.”
I don’t like her answer. It makes me want to give her everything. And that’s a rabbit hole I can’t go down. “Why are you with Seth?” I change the subject.
“Why did you defend me tonight?” she counters.
I sigh, and she arches a brow. We’re at a standstill. Neither one of us wants to answer.
Her body relaxes on top of mine, and her hands come up to my chest. I’ve got a direct line of sight to hers, and I move my hands to her narrow hips. My fingers dig into her jeans, and it takes everything in me not to move them against mine. To feel her grind against me. Just the thought makes my cock start to harden.
She licks her pouty, nude painted lips. “If I asked you to forget who I am for one night, could you do it?”
“Why would I wanna forget who you are?” I ask confused by her question.
“I don’t wanna be Becky. But I also don’t wanna be Demi,” she answers honestly.
“Who do you wanna be?”
“Someone who matters,” she whispers, dropping her head to stare at my shirt.
Letting go of her hips, I grip her chin and lift her head, so she must look at me. “Demi Holt matters to me,” I say, and I hate that the words are true. I thought she was a Becky mini-me, but she’s nothing like her. Demi pushes me. She wakes up a part of me that I didn’t think I wanted again.
“What if she’s not behind it?” Cole had asked me.
“Then I’ll protect her.” It’s not even a question. I’d do whatever I have to do to protect her from whoever thinks they can go toe to toe with us. But if she’s behind it … I’ll also do what has to be done.
“Forget it.” She goes to push away from me, but I hold my grip on her.
“Demi …”
“I don’t need your lies,” she snaps.
I cradle her face in my hands and pull her lips to mine. She doesn’t hesitate before opening for me. Her tongue enters my mouth, and mine meets hers. Exploring her mouth as if it’s never been there before. Wanting to know her sweet taste. Savoring it. Knowing that I may have to hurt her eventually. I want to drink her in. Swallow her whole.
Her hips begin to grind, rubbing her jeans on my hard dick, and I moan, tilting her head to the side to allow me to deepen the kiss. She moans, opening up for me as if she belongs to me. And I take from her.
I pull away, and she pants. “Does that feel like a fucking lie?” I demand.
Her heavy eyes open, and they search mine; for what, I don’t know. Licking her wet lips, she replies roughly, “It doesn’t feel like the truth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DEMI
I LIED TO him. Again. He has no clue what Eli and Becky were doing, but I do. I’m the only person who knows what was really going on, but I can’t tell him. Not now. I won’t allow her to ruin another day of my life. I don’t want to have to think of her, or Eli, or his death. I want Deke.
Austin thinks I love him, and honestly, I’m not sure she’s a hundred percent wrong. What is love anyway? All the movies tell you that it’s sweet and romantic, but it’s such bullshit. Cole and Austin are proof of that. You don’t always need hearts and flowers to prove you love someone. Sometimes you need each other’s names carved in blood.
I push away from him, and he allows it. I stand on shaky legs. I’m not drunk, but I’m not sober either. He sits there looking up at me. Is he waiting for me to leave? For me to shout at him? Beg him? I want to fall to my knees and tell him that it’s me he wants. That it’s me he sees. Not her. But that’s just the wine talking, so instead, I go for plan B.