♡AN ENEMIES-TO-LOVERS ROMANCE♡
Attending the same college is the only thing Sebastian Hutches and Tara Van Doren have in common.
To Sebastian, Tara is a rich, spoiled girl, obsessed with her looks and status.
To Tara, Sebastian is a rude, arrogant...
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“Do you believe in Santa Claus?”
Laughing, I rolled onto my belly and turned my head on the pillow to see Bast’s face. “What kind of question is that?”
“I'm trying to get to know you better,” he whispered, his fingers dancing over my bare back. “What you believe in. What you love. What you dream of.”
“Santa doesn't exist,” I said, reaching over to caress Bast’s jaw.
He closed his eyes and sighed, a content smile tugging at his lips. “Depends on who you ask.”
“So, you believe in behaving well and being rewarded?”
“Rewarded.” Bast smirked, opening his eyes. “And no. I just think we need to believe in something to deal with how fucking crazy the world is. Everyone needs a bit of magic. Okay. What about marriage?”
“Does marriage equal magic?”
“Smartass.” Bast moved his palm to my bum and smoothed it over the curves. “I'm just wondering.”
I traced the shape of his lips with my index. “I don't know. I believe in finding someone you love enough to want to spend your life with. Someone who's your lover and your best friend. You?”
Bast grabbed my hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his chest. “Same. My parents had their ups and downs, but you'd have to see them laughing at some weird shit together like two kids. I want that.”
“Laughter?”
He knitted his fingers through mine. “Complicity. Laughter. Love.”
I edged closer to hug him and feel the heat of his skin. “Magic.”
♡♡♡
There’s no blood on my hands anymore, but I still feel it coating my fingers. It was like reliving the day Mom died, except this time, they told me I did well by pressing on Bast’s wound until the ambulance got to us.
He’s been in surgery for an hour, and each time a doctor or a nurse passes by the waiting area, my heart forgets how to beat.
He took the bullet for me. He saved me. I’d give anything to be in the OR instead of him because he doesn’t deserve this, and the pain on his parents’ faces is my fault.
After another glance at Nora’s tear-soaked cheeks, I slide off the chair and go to the coffee machine. My throat wouldn’t open enough to drink, but I need distance from Bast’s mom and dad. More like, I feel they’d rather not look at me — the one their son loves enough to have risked his life for.
I sit on the floor beside the steel box and wrap my arms around my knees. It hides me from view, but I can see everyone entering. If he dies, I’ll know just from looking at the surgeon’s face.
