I can barely see past the tears welled in my eyes. I don’t even know how I’m typing, but somehow, my fingers find the right keys.
Yes. I am madly, wildly, undeniably in love with Rhys Ravenstone. Please let him come home to me.
After hitting Send, I slide off the couch, my knees hitting the carpet. Wedged in the narrow space between the coffee table and the couch, I press the phone to my forehead. “Please, please, please. Cupid, please.”
I repeat this for what feels like hours, but it’s minutes at most when my phone pings again. Tapping the app, I see another reply.
Dear Charlotte Mallory (Member #822),
Correct answer.
Second condition: The Book Boyfriends is exactly like Fight Club. I picked you for a reason. Now that you’re part of our shared secret, you will keep our secret. Yeah, yeah, I know you told your friend.She won’t remember it. I’m a god, remember? I giveth, and I can taketh away. *wink*
—Cupid, aka “the happily ever after maker”
I blow out a breath, but when I try to reply, I can’t. The app won’t let me type. It keeps flashing ‘error,’ and when I click out of it and return to the main screen of my cell phone… Panicking, I let out a small cry when I see the one fragile line of communication I had with Cupid—the only connection with Rhys—is gone. The app is deleted off my phone, and when I hear the rain start, I push off my knees and…
What?
What am I supposed to do now?
Wait? For what?
“I do love him,” I whisper. “I swear to you, I love Rhys Ravenstone right down to the crumbs of him.”
Midnight comes.
The knock has me gasping, nearly jumping out of my skin. With an excited squeal, I toss my phone on the couch before dashing for the door. But I skid to a halt, frozen for a moment, terrified this is a twisted joke, as I stare at his unmistakable outline through the smoked glass.
Him.
Tall, wide, and powerful him.
My antihero.
“Charlotte Mallory?” The deep rumble on the other side of the locked door isverymale andverycalm.
“Who’s asking?” I, on the other hand, am a fucking wreck.
“Rhys Ravenstone.” His palm flattens against the glass. “Open the door.”
I slap a trembling hand over my mouth. Curl my sweaty hand around the knob, and the moment I swing it open, Rhys storms inside, forcing me to leap backward.
“You’re here.”
He fills all the space in the room. Absorbs all the air, and when he reaches for me, I back up again, not trusting myself to touch him. Afraid he’ll crumble to dust beneath my hands. “Cupid rarely changes his mind. What the hell did you say to him?”
“Everything,” I breathe. I drag my gaze over him, from the top of his disheveled dark hair to his wet, black clothes, down to the heavy boots, and back to his perfect, chiseled face. “I told him everything.”
He narrows those eyes on me. “Be specific, Charlotte.”
I watch him follow the trail of my tongue as I lick my lips. Then I notch my chin and leap right off a cliff. “I love you, Rhys Ravenstone. I love you, and it’s okay if you don’t love me back. I’ll hate it and be miserable for the rest of my life, but I’ll deal with it somehow. I can’t live with you being trapped in that void.”
And I think that’s what love is, right? You put their happiness and well-being above your own—even if it breaks your heart. If Rhys rejects me, I’ll shatter into a million pieces right here, right now, at his feet. But I’ll still let him go because anything is better than his suffering.
“Come here to me, Charlotte.” Chills break out across my flesh at how he crooks his finger at me, beckoning me. Rhys has seen every inch of me. We’ve done things I never eventhoughtto do with another living soul. But here I am, in a long, pink T-shirtand socks, suddenly super self-conscious as I inch toward him. When I’m within arm’s reach, he grabs me, pulling me against his body, his rain-soaked clothes wetting me. Locking me in his arms. He nods at the front door. “You’ll be good if I walk out right now?”
My mouth tastes like ash, and my limbs are heavy and numb. “Do you want to?”
