BooksBarbecue
Back Kismet Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Prologue
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Part Two
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-One
  24. Chapter Twenty-Two
  25. Chapter Twenty-Three
  26. Chapter Twenty-Four
  27. Chapter Twenty-Five
  28. Chapter Twenty-Six
  29. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  31. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  32. Chapter Thirty
  33. Chapter Thirty-One
  34. Chapter Thirty-Two
  35. Chapter Thirty-Three
  36. Chapter Thirty-Four
  37. Chapter Thirty-Five
  38. Chapter Thirty-Six
  39. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  40. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  41. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  42. Chapter Forty
  43. Chapter Forty-One
  44. Chapter Forty-Two
  45. Part Three
  46. Chapter Forty-Three
  47. Chapter Forty-Four
  48. Chapter Forty-Five
  49. Chapter Forty-Six
  50. Epilogue

I’m not ready to hear why he was okay deserting me. Why I meant so little to him that leaving was easy. I’m not ready to hear how I cared about him more than he did. How he moved on with his life as if I was never there, while I pined after him. Fucking cried for him. And why my soul feels so fucking lost anytime he’s not around, but the moment he’s near me, I feel a stupid fucking sense of peace that can’t be explained.

Like right now, for example. His presence in my home pisses me the fuck off, but it calms me at the same time. Makes no goddamn sense.

Pushing off the couch, I trudge toward the kitchen. “If we’re doing this, I need a fucking drink.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Stone Philips

To be completely honest, I’m not even sure how I ended up here. The last hour has been one giant blur of rash decisions and haunting memories. Without fail, anytime a storm hits, it always brings me back to my classroom, five years ago. Cash and me in the dark, giving in to the temptation.

Nothing—and I mean nothing—has ever felt as right as Cash does. From the very first time his lips brushed mine, his tongue stroked mine, and his hands touched my body, I knew I would never feel as complete as I do with him. This is something I’ve thought about hundreds—shit, probably even thousands—of times over the years. It never made sense to me how I felt as strongly for Cash as I did in such a short time.

It was almost like as soon as we crossed that boundary, and became more than student and professor, I suddenly couldn’t function without him. Which is absurd to think about if you’d never experienced such strong emotions toward someone before. When I left, a part of my soul was missing. I was incomplete, and it was gut-wrenching.

My heart ached for him—physically fucking ached—and it’s something I’ve never experienced before. I would lie in bed on my side night after night, clutching my chest, feeling like I was drowning in the depths of my misery, gasping for the air only he could give me.

I came here tonight with one thing in mind: finally tell Cash the truth. If there’s even the slightest possibility he’ll understand and forgive me, I have to try. We can’t go on like this—in this uncomfortable limbo filled with stolen glances and tense silence. In a way, I’m happy he caught me today. It gave me the push I needed to do this. To finally come clean.

His rich, dark eyes lift to meet mine from the kitchen, confusion and uncertainty swimming in them.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks gingerly.