Page 90 of Poison Aches

In fact, some days you can tell they feel sorry for you. That part makes me sick.

Other days, it feels good, liking them from a distance, but with Emmett, distance and time never mattered.

I just keptfeeling.

But two Christmases ago, the guy I’d been crushing on all my life, the one who keeps me up at night, the one who comes to mind whenever I think ofpassionand whenever I think oflove, whenever I think of whatforevermeans… he told me that he’dneverfeel for me like that.

So, I’m focusing on my life and getting answers now. Starting with finding my parents.

“Are you asking if I’m now clear about Emmett Easton?” I ask.

Not waiting for an answer, I get up, then hold Knight to me. I clear my throat and with all the confidence I can muster, I face the room.

“Hear me, hear me, oh ye nosy asshats. I, Ivy Marie Irving, no longer have any feelings for Emmett Easton.”

Eyes widen. Smirks appear, and loud side-eyes are given, but I ignore it all and continue.

“For as long as we both live, there will never be anything between us. Not a touch, a kiss, hell, not even a look. In fact, I’m pretty sure if Emmett was the last man on earth, I’d never feel a damn thing for him, let alone be anything to him. Me? I’m about to go get fucked in New York City by a man I met two months ago, so my virginity will be a non-issue soon. So, Noah, be a dear and get me a virginity breaking cake and FedEx it to me, 'kay?”

When I’m done with my very passionate speech, I’m breathing hard, trying to ignore the pain in my chest.

I look at the room but it’s then that I notice that no one is looking at me at all.

But they sure as hell were listening… along with the person they’re all watching…

A person who’s glaring daggers at me, as he looms large in the wide doorway.

Holy shit!

When did he get here? Did he hear what I just said?

Everything in me comes to a screeching halt as I stare unabashed at the reverting image that is Emmett fucking Easton.

Messy, devil-may-care dark hair that’s just begging me to run my fingers through and make him mine.

A sharp, chiseled jaw I’ve dreamed of kissing a million times over, second only to his lips. And talking about those utterly kissable lips, they are pressed into a fine line as he glares at me with his sharp, cold, unrelenting emerald green eyes that have featured in my dreamsand nightmaresalmost all my life.

He’s huge, looking larger than life, like a distant majestic, snow-capped mountain. And when his perfectly chiseled jaw clenches, something wild and erratic settles in my core.

Oh fuck.

An acute frisson of electric awareness hits me square between my legs as I stare.

I can’t help but take him in, from his huge, broad shoulders that are hugged by a simple but fitting black t-shirt that showcases his tattooed cannon arms, bulging biceps, all the way to his narrow hips encased by a pair of simple black joggers.

I’ve studied the human body so fucking hard in my life but nothing, not a drawing in a book or the case studies I’ve seen on film at school, can come close to Emmett Easton.

His physique alone would make a sculptor weak but me, I just want to run my hands all over him.

He’s strong, a prime example of what it means to be the most primal, most virile, masculine beast of a man.

He easily towers above all the men in the room, and with him comes a cold, dangerously lethal aura that shifts over the room in a way that makes me almost tremble.

But he’s always made me tremble.

In fear, in faux excitement, and in tears.

Suddenly, the lighthearted and humorous atmosphere that was in the room a while ago is all gone, replaced by a sharp tension that makes my heart pound…painfully.

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