Page 157 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
He’s older and wiser and I’m young and stupid.
And if I’m not careful, I’ll walk away in pieces.
I might leave so wrecked I break my own promise to stay friends with Kit because I won’t be able to lay eyes on Holden Verity and his ugly doubts again.
20
FRAGILE CONTENTS (HOLDEN)
Me and my stupid-ass jokes.
Telling her Kit will be looking her up in the future like we’ll be passing strangers, ships in the night?
Dumbass.
A massive, raging dumbass who’s trying to avoid his obsession with having any ongoing involvement with Cleo Blackthorn. Let alone a real relationship.
I should’ve known better than to let it invade my head, but when she’s lying against me, it’s easy to imagine more days like this.
Coffee and bagels in bed.
Chaos in the living room.
Kit laughing, learning to make more trouble with a paintbrush.
Paint and plaster splattered everywhere.
Her smile clinging to my heart.
Like I said,raging dumbass.
Usually, I’m up before the sun. Before Cleo wakes up to sneak back to her room for appearances, but this morning I overslept.
When I wake up, her side of the bed is cold. I snap up and check my phone.
Gone to see Margot. Be back soon! Don’t worry about me for breakfast.
I don’t like it, even if it’s a perfectly normal morning between cousins.
The way my body tenses says I really, really don’t fucking like it.
Not just because last night was fraught.
I’ve never been good at talking shit out, not after Charli, but I also don’t like letting venom fester.
Plus, the fact that she should stay close so I can watch her. The odds of anyone grabbing her for ransom off the quiet streets of Portland are slim, but still.
It’s part of the job I’ve put on the back burner the second she started riding my cock. Then again, if she’s with another Blackthorn in a city like home, she should be safe enough.
I sigh deeply and roll out of bed, heading downstairs.
The house is still quiet, and even before I reach the kitchen, I can sense she’s gone. Clee has a presence wherever she goes.
I can’t help myself. I walk through the living room, stopping where the canvas remains propped up by the window. Rough textures and paint on cardboard spill sheets strewn everywhere.
A window to disaster in my world, and I wouldn’t want to change anything.
I need to stop wanting things I can’t have.
