Scroll down to read an excerpt!

Posy can run, but she isn’t made to be free. She’s made for me. And when I catch her? Game over.


“You know what I think?” Posy sniffles, but the tears never fall. They gather until her eyes are blue pools like rounded glass. “I think you can’t stand that I flipped the script. You threw me away, and then you changed your mind, but I was gone. You’re butt hurt that the trash took itself out.”

“What are you talking about?”

The phone’s moving. She’s maneuvering herself upright up on the bed. 

“You don’t care what happens to me. I doubt you care what happens to anyone. But you need to call the shots, don’t you? You can’t stand that the girl who let everyone walk all over her won’t lay down for you.”

“Posy—” She’s spouting nonsense. I need her to focus. “Can you stop with the woe is me for a minute? You’re in real trouble.”

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself,” she denies, indignant, even though she knows it’s a lie. She can’t help herself. The denial is a kneejerk reaction.

She has this front, and it’s paper thin. Everyone can see through it. That’s why men take advantage of her. She’s defenseless, and it’s obvious, but it’s a matter of pride for her to take whatever she’s dealt and shrug it off.

Someone taught her a long time ago that she’d better not let on when it hurts, but she never got any good at hiding the pain. She’s made herself a convenient victim.

I’d undo the damage if I knew how. I don’t need her to pretend. I like her raw feelings—all of them. They turn me on. That’s what makes her different than every other person in the world.  

Besides, I don’t need her pretending she’s a tough cookie when she clearly isn’t. She doesn’t need to be strong. I am strong. I can destroy anything that threatens her—if she fucking tells me where to come and get her.

I inhale and slowly exhale. My left eye’s twitching. How much longer does this part of the game last?

When I don’t reply, she feels compelled to argue the point. “It’s only the truth. If you don’t like it, that’s on you.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

“I’m not feeling bad because we broke up, if that’s what you think. I’m pissed because you can’t tell when something is obviously photoshopped, and now my life has to be over.”

“Fine. Where are you? I’ll bring you home. Smooth things over. I’ll set you up in your own place, and you can take your car.” 

I’m lying through my teeth, and she’s not even listening. She’s stuck on our relationship. It’s like when I need the numbers from Miles, and he wants to talk his draft picks.

“I know that Carolyn bought me all the stuff. You don’t know me at all, do you, Dario?”

I know her perfectly. Better than she knows herself. She’s a tangled ball of self-doubt, foolish pride, dumb hope, brilliance, masochism, and blind affection. And I’m obsessed.

I need her back. 

Leave a Reply