Dylan's POV
I want to wipe the dirt plastered beside her lips—it clings to her skin like a damn tattoo. So I lean in, close enough to get a better view, close enough that our faces are just inches apart. And to my horror, she actually closes her eyes. Closes them like she’s expecting something… romantic.
Seriously?
I almost roll my eyes, but I can't even if I want to. My eyes are sore, tired from forcing out tears I didn’t feel. I spent all that energy fake-crying, trying to make her believe my pathetic performance—and she did. She actually believed me. That’s how far I’m willing to go to get what I want from her.
But did she truly believe I meant what I said? That if she wanted me to kiss her, I would gladly do it? The thought makes my stomach churn.
I replay those words in my head
