Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(87)

His eyes sink closed. “I’m sorry, Quinn. Please, just hear me out. I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he keeps saying. Those two words—I’m sorry—like they have any fucking meaning anymore.

My teeth sink into the fleshy inside of my cheek until I taste copper, all the while counting backward from ten.

Then twenty.

Then fifty.

Because as pissed as I am right now, I have no interest in decking him for this. I’d rather him have to live with the repercussions, wishing I’d beat him to a pulp for it instead.

And it works. A cool, calm wave washes over me, if only for the briefest moment. Enough for self-preservation to kick in, forcing my body to move on autopilot. I turn my back to him, grabbing my jeans where they lay on the floor and shoving my legs through them.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” I bite back at him, finding my socks and shirt next. But it’s damn hard when my heart is struggling to beat in my chest, thanks to him shredding it to pieces.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

A sardonic laugh slips past my lips as I slip into my shoes and socks. “What you want isn’t really high on my priority list right now, Oak. Not anymore.”

He remains silent, thank God, as he watches me continue to redress, throwing my shirt and hoodie over my head. His eyes burn me, even through the clothes, it takes everything in me not to look at him. Because I know the moment I do, there’s a very real possibility my resolve might slip, and I might hear him out.

But I’m not in the mood to listen to any more of his lies.

“You know, I thought the golden boy was supposed to be perfect. Never do anything wrong,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “It’s about time your true colors show.”

“Quinton, please—”

“No. Fuck you.” I seethe, crossing the room until I’m standing right in front of him. My nose brushes his, and those two lying, deceitful lips are a hair’s breadth away. “I trusted you. I handed over pieces of who I am on a silver fucking platter to you, and this is what I have to show for it. A knife in the fucking back and lies piled higher than that fucking Ferris wheel.”

The sorrow in his brown eyes should be enough to stop me, but I can’t hear anymore. I can’t look at him, because all I see when I do is everything I’ve been missing in my life being snatched away from me with one, thoughtless choice.

I move to push away, to garner the space I so desperately need, when Oakley does the one thing we both know he shouldn’t, even when it’s the very thing we both crave.

He wraps his palm around the back of my neck and slams his mouth to mine.

His tongue seeks mine, coaxing it to life as he spins us, backing me up until we crash against the closest surface. A desk he lifts me onto before crushing the entire length of his body to mine. As if that’s all it will take to keep me here.

Every emotion rippling through my body seeps into this kiss.

Anger, hurt, betrayal.

Hope, love.

Hate.

Each one of them flows from me as his mouth devours mine, once again taking things that don’t belong to him. Pleading with me to stop and think and listen to the things his heart speaks to mine.

But it’s not enough.

It’ll never be enough.

And so I break my mouth from his and shove him away. I’m off the desk, wheeling around it to grab my bag from where I’d tossed it on the floor. Bolting for an escape before he can speak. Or worse, try to stop me once again.

But I failed to consider one thing as I let the door to his room crash open against the wall. Something that’s now glaringly obvious as I’m greeted with four sets of wide, but sleepy, eyes on the other side.

We’re not alone.

And from the looks on his roommates’ faces, they heard more than enough of what just happened behind that door.

“Fucking fantastic,” I mutter under my breath before glancing over my shoulder at Oakley. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, eyes darting between me and his roommates on the other side of the threshold.

Part of me almost feels bad for him—that his friends found out this way—but honestly, I’m too fucking pissed off to grant any sympathy right now.

My attention drifts back to the crowd gathered in the hallway, effectively blocking my escape route.

“Show’s over, guys. Don’t bother sticking around for an encore. There won’t be one.”

I expect them to move, scatter, do fucking something other than stay perfectly still, just…staring at me. Like some kind of caged animal at a zoo, ready to lunge at anyone who gets too close to the glass.

Doesn’t matter.

They want to gawk? Fine.

I’ll just plow my way through them.

The same way their roommate did my heart.





Thirty-One

Oakley

“Quinn!” I shout, ready to shove through the guys and run after him. But I don’t make it much further than through the door, because Holden presses his palm against my chest to stop me.

“It’s better to just let him go,” he mutters, sorrow written on his face. “Trust me on this one, Oak.”

I push back against his palm, only to have another hand clamp on my shoulder. This one belongs to Camden. He spins me away from Holden and presses me against the wall with a painful grip.