Page 128 of Things I Wish I Said
I have no illusions about Ryleigh’s feelings toward me. She’s using me. I’m a means to an end. But even if I weren’t, she’s sick. Feeling anything for her is a mistake. If everything goes to plan, we have a couple weeks before her award in LA, and then our deal will come to an end. I’ll no longer be obligated to her, and she’ll no longer need me. In a perfect world where I’m not heading to George Mason in the fall and she didn’t have cancer, maybe we’d fit.
Her tongue traces the seam of my mouth before she sucks on my lower lip, and I groan.
She’s dying.
If only my heart would listen.
Someone beside us clears their throat, and I slow the kiss, brushing my lips over hers one more time before pulling back.
And then I walk away.
Chapter twenty-eight
RYLEIGH
The second Grayson leaves,all eyes fall to me.
Clearing my throat, I contemplate cracking a joke and clearing the air, but all I really want to do is chase after him.
So that’s exactly what I do.
I turn on my heel without saying a single word and run after his retreating form.
My muscles burn. My chest aches. The air in my lungs inadequate to keep up with my brisk pace.
I suck in a breath, choking over a cough as the air rasps in my lungs. Grayson slows at the sound, allowing me to run in front of him and block his path.
I lean down, hands on my knees, another cough spluttering between my lips as I fight to force the air in and out of my lungs in a steady rhythm.
The muscles in my chest clench.
A cramp spasms in my side.
But it was worth it.
“Shit, Sinclair.” Grayson places a hand on my back, the warmth of his palm soaking through the thin cotton of my shirt. “What the hell were you thinking running all the way over here?”
I raise a finger, unable to speak through the choke hold in my chest.
Another cough rips through me, and I inhale, feeling the burn in my lungs as I straighten.
My stomach ties in knots as I stare at him. He’s so beautiful in the moonlight, it makes my head spin. “What the was that back there?” I wave a hand back toward the fire pit.
The muscle in his jaw flexes, before he turns from me and reaches in his pocket. Pulling out a cigarette, he lights up and takes a long drag.
Fury blooms inside my chest. “What do you think you’re doing?” I say, stomping over to him once more.
“Having a smoke.”
“Well, stop.” I rip the cigarette from his fingers and toss it on the ground at my feet, then stomp it out.
“The hell?” His gray eyes turn to pinpoints in the moonlight as he reaches in his pocket and grabs another.
I rip that one from his fingers too.
“Fine. You want a smoke, then I’ll have one, too.” I hold the cigarette to my lips, motioning for him to give me a light.
His expression tightens. “That’s not funny.”
