His Everything (Not Just Friends #2) Read Online Jenika Snow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Novella, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Not Just Friends Series by Jenika Snow
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Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
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For the next twenty minutes he drove further away from the city, and toward an isolated spot. He knew college students from the university often went to this area to party, since cops rarely busted them. Ace had gone here plenty of times when he was a junior and senior in high school, gotten into random, senseless fights that had hoards of people cheering and placing bets, and then getting shit-faced drunk.

He pulled off the main road, took his Mustang higher into the woods that now surrounded them, and then he parked and cut the engine. When the silence surrounded them he could hear the sound of music faintly in the background. He shifted on the seat so he could see her a little better, and the light from the moon that shone through the trees made her look almost ethereal.

Well, shit, you sound like some kind of romantic asshole.

Hell, who was he kidding? He’d be anything he had to be to make Lauren happy, because when she was happy, he was happy. When he was with Lauren he was a better man. He felt like a better person, and the darkness he had every day inside of him lessened when she was near. Did he only want to be better when he was with someone? Yes and no. Maybe he should have wanted to be a better person, able to control himself for himself. But what was life worth if someone couldn’t be a better person, want to be better and good, if not for the person they loved?

“You must be thinking about something important,” she said softly, a smile on her face.

“I’m thinking about you,” he reached out and smoothed his finger over her cheek. “And you’re the most important thing to me, Poppy.”

Her mouth parted a little, and he smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip. Leaning in closer, he stared at her mouth, at the redness in her lips, the way they were full, kissable.

“How can a man so big, so scary,” she flicked her eyes to his face and grinned after she said the last part, “how can someone like you be so sweet to me, so good?”

He knew what she meant, knew that although others feared him because of his size, because he could be volatile, he’d never do anything to hurt her. Ever. “I just want to make you happy, but I know that over the years I’ve disappointed you, and that gives me more pain than you’ll ever know.”

She covered his hand with hers. “You do make me happy.” She smiled.

“I went and saw a therapist the other day.”

She let go of his hand and turned in her seat to face him fully. “You did? Why?”

He shrugged, faced forward, and stared at the trees around them. “For you. For me. Hell, I don’t know. I thought it might help, might be able to get rid of the shit inside of me so that I can be a better person for you.” The silence stretched out between them for several seconds.

“Did it help? Talking to someone, I mean,” she asked, and reached out and took his hand again.

Ace looked down at where she had her palm over the back of his hand, her thumb moving back and forth over his skin.

“I want you to know that I went into this, stayed all these years because I believe in you, accept everything that you are, Ace.”

He looked at her then.

“I believe in you, know that in your heart you are a good man. You fight to stay sane, to stay level. How can anyone, least of all me, want or expect you to change just because that’s what society thinks is right?”

God, he loved this woman, loved her and knew that without her he would have probably gone off the deep end a long time ago.

“You know how my life was, my past,” he said. “You know more about me than anyone else, even any of my friends from back in the day.” He thought about Toby, and the times Toby had seen him getting beaten from his bedroom window, and even called the cops. Toby had been with him through thick and thin, had been his only friend when he was growing up.

But then he’d moved, his father uprooting him and transplanting him in another school, another town.

But when he was fighting, hitting someone or a punching bag, he thought about his father, about the shit he did to him. It helped with his aggression, and there were times when it was all said and done that he felt this freedom he’d never felt, this rush of adrenaline that made him lightheaded and almost feel … healed. But then of course that nasty fucking feeling of loneliness and despair filled him until he choked on it.


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