Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Praise for Fight or Flight
- Praise for New York Times bestselling author Samantha Young
- ALSO BY SAMANTHA YOUNG
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Readers Guide
- Excerpt from FIGHT OR FLIGHT
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“I told you that night on the beach that we can’t.” Viola sounded so sad. “You were right to push me away all those years ago because of your dad. I don’t want to cause problems between you and your family. I don’t want to be the person that causes such a rift.”
“Aye, you say that, but then every time I touch you, kiss you”—his voice deepened to a masculine huskiness that made my eyes widen—“you light up like a fucking fire. Are we just supposed to ignore that?”
“Maybe it’s just lust.”
“You think this is just lust? Goddamn it, Viola, if I wanted just sex, I could get it anytime.”
She snorted in derision. “Aye, I’m aware of that, Lucas. I am very aware of that. You’re practically legendary at uni. And I’m to believe I’m not just another shag for you.”
“You don’t believe that. You’re just saying that to piss me off.”
“Well, you do fuck other girls to piss me off.”
“I haven’t touched another girl since I realized you feel about me how I feel about you.”
“But we can’t be together!”
“Do you want me to go? Do you want to see me with someone else . . . because I can’t bear the thought of seeing you with another guy. I’d kill him.”
“You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. We can’t. We can’t.” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
“The choice about my family should be mine, Vi, not yours. It’s bullshit. It’s a lie. You’re lying . . . you’re tearing my fucking heart out, and I think that’s what you meant to do all along. You finally got one up on Lucas Elliot.”
Just before I heard the slam of the basement door, I heard Viola cry, “Lucas, no!”
Then the door slammed again as Viola chased after him.
I sagged against the wall, wrung out by the angst I’d overheard.
What the hell? How had these two become worse off than they were before my little seed of encouragement?
Twenty-Two
Sundays had become precious to Roane and me. For most people in the village it was a day off work, the day they visited church to worship, and an afternoon they gathered at one another’s homes for roast dinner, but agnostic Roane and I loved it for a different reason. It was the only day in the entire week when we could spend every minute together. The man’s body clock forced him to wake early every morning, even though we’d both agreed that we wouldn’t work that day. My own body clock seemed to have synced to his, and when I felt him stir, I rolled into him and kissed him awake so he wouldn’t get out of bed.