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312 pages, Kindle Edition
Published June 19, 2025
She’s not wearing a fucking bra.
The shirt is huge on her, but there’s no hiding the way it forms to her chest, her nipples pressing against the material. How pathetic does it make me to be fucking jealous of a damn T-shirt?
She leaves with a blush on her cheeks, only this one spreads down her pretty, slender neck and disappears beneath the neckline of my T-shirt.
There’s something right about seeing a woman in your clothing, how it hangs off her, how she looks so free and comfortable in it, but it’s like a claiming. Even if Sloane isn’t mine.
The skin has been slashed in several places, leaving long, harsh lines in her flesh, one of them severs the ink swirls of her tattoo, cutting a single butterfly right in half.
Anger blasts through me, my heart stopping and restarting like a jackknife.
“Who did this to you?” There is nothing human left in my voice. “Who did this?”
I never thought three days was a long time until right fucking now. She’s everywhere, in the shampoo left in the main bathroom and the new strawberry flavored yogurts in the fridge. She’s the thousands of hair ties left everywhere, and the half-finished bottle of wine. I smell her on the couch, the sugary scent of her perfume threaded into the fabric, and see her with the nail polishes left on the coffee table in the living room.