Page 133 of Mexico Can Choke On It
And now?
He’s holding me like I’mstillthat thing.
His palm is splayed against the small of my back. The other curls around my shoulder, fingers woven into my hair as though he’s claiming every strand. All night he’s done this—reached for me in his sleep, pulling me close whenever I drifted. Like even in his dreams, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting me go.
“Let me get lost in you.”
God, B.
How was I supposed to say no to that?
I stay perfectly still, breathing in the smell of his skin—crisp pears, sandalwood, and the unmistakable aroma of sex. The early morningsun is bleeding through the curtains’ slats. I want to tilt my head and admire his sleeping face, but I don’t dare move.
Ineedto move. Ishouldmove. But I won’t.
Because the second I wake him, the spell will be broken. He’ll remember he’s Bryce Sterling, future king of capitalism. I’ll remember I’m Petra Brinkman, the poor girl who has more tattoos than money.
Tomorrow, this fairy tale ends—and I’m the one who turns back into a pumpkin.
I’ve loved him since I was old enough to recognize heartbreak. From when he first walked into our sad little home with my brother, all polished confidence and expensive-looking… everything. Our secondhand furniture had never felt more embarrassing. He didn’t belong in my world—but I wanted him anyway.
Even at fifteen, I knew boys like Bryce didn’t fall for girls like me. We were from different species—him all sun-kissed privilege and inherited wealth, me all sharp edges and thrift store rebellion.
Hell, I’ve built an entire personality around being an outsider who never gave a shit.
I’ve weaponized my mouth into a finely tuned defense system—sarcasm as armor, dirty jokes as deflection. I make things sound casual, like my heart isn’t on the line whenever he looks at me. That I’m just here for a week-long ride on the billionaire.
But I’m lying to both of us.
And honestly? It’s easier this way.
Because what the hell can you do when the boy you always loved becomes the man you’ve always wanted—and still can’t have? Every fantasy I’ve ever had is playing out in real time, dragging my heart along for the ride, but I know damn well he’s not mine to keep.
I won’t ask for more. It’s impossible. He’ll leave, and I’ll pretend I’m fine.
But, before that happens, I’m gonna give him everything I’ve got.
I’ll be unforgettable.
If this is our ending, I want it to be the kind you never recover from. Passion that ruins you for anyone after. I want to leave claw marks on his soul—the way he’s been tattooed onto mine.
I can’t be his forever girl. But I can be the woman he dreams about. The wildfire in his memories—the one that never quite burns out.
When he’s busy playing the role of ideal husband, I want him to look at his trophy wife and wonder why she doesn’t light him up the way I did.
I’ll be the only woman who showed him how it felt to be wanted forwho he is, notwhat he’s worth.By the time I’m done, he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering what the hell happened to him in Mexico.
“You’re here,” he rasps, his voice laced with sleep.
I smile and feign a groggy wake-up stretch(complete with exaggerated yawn).“Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”
“No, Pip. You’re exactly where I want you.”
He dips his head, brushing his lips against mine in a kiss so gentle, it makes my heart ache. When he pulls back, I can see the evidence of last night painted across his skin—my lipstick staining his throat, the faint trails of my nails down his shoulder. I see him marked asmine,and a swell of emotions threatens to take over.
Don’t cry. Plenty of time for that later.
“What are you thinking?” His thumb traces the curve of my bottom lip, those ice-blue eyes studying my expression like I’m a puzzle.
