Page 110 of Go Luck Yourself
You read this when you were seven?? Christ, that explains a lot.
You have no idea.
And stop texting me. We’re staying away from each other, remember? I wasn’t starting a book club with you.
THE ACTUAL DEVIL
You should be so lucky to have me in your book club.
Eat your dinner, maggot, I’ve got reading to do.
It’s a clear sign-off, but I stare at his text far longer than I should, my heart in a suspended state of racing.
All the words I wrote today roll around and around in my head.
It’s easier to write. Always is.
So I send one last text.
You were right earlier. I am a mess. But you said you are too. It wouldn’t be easy, and I don’t think you want easy. Neither do I.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, we’re not due to leave for Belfast until after lunch, so I spend the morning filling up the notebook Colm gave me. I don’t use the ones Loch left.
But I use the pens.
C’mon, they’recushion grip.I’m only human.
I stay at the desk in my suite rather than trek down to the library. Because it’s comfortable.
Not because I’m a coward.
I also don’t turn on my phone.
Again, because I am definitely not a coward.
I’m just, like, conserving battery life or some shit.
Only I finally do have to turn on my phone when Iris, Coal, and Hex are supposed to show up, and I gotta face the results of my dumbass text last night at some point.
There are no missed texts from Loch.
I open the thread with him. The message I sent last night is read. Unanswered.
Fuck this guy.
There’s a bunch of shit from Coal and Iris—Iris has been counting down by the half hour for the past three hours like we haven’t seen each other in years. But this is the first time we’ve all hung out since before my Christmas love declaration, isn’t it? So maybe it is a big deal.
Wren sent me some more tabloid links. Less than after the race because nothingscandaloushappened at the music festival, but these articles are markedly less clickbaity. They talk about how Loch spent most of his time with a few different musicians, and one reporter uncovered that many of the new artists were there becauseLocharranged it. There’s not a whiff of negative speculation to behad, no mention of Loch screwing anything up. No mention of me yelling at the paparazzi either.
One article ends with a question.What else has Prince Lochlann been doing behind the scenes?
I switch back to my text thread with him. Still nothing. Has he seen these articles? Does he care? Why doIcare, if he’s such a stubborn asshole?
Fuuuuuuuck.
I tear through my suitcase and throw my anxious energy into looking as dead sexy as humanly possible. There’s one shirt in particular I’ve never worn because the innuendo is a littlemucheven for me, and it’s the tightest thing I’ve ever bought—a sizing mistake, actually—but it’ll show off every muscle in my chest and arms.
