A book’s spine is not meant to hit a wall, but, there it slid down, coming to a forlorn, bent-out-of-shape slump on the ground.
Samantha crossed her hands over her chest and pouted. She’d been enjoying that book, loving the characters, the concepts, where it was going—but now…
A quick darting motion brought her phone up to use, as it had been an hour before, and her text sent at the speed of technology.
That was horrible.
She did not have to wait long. Jeremy had every intention to fuck Sam at some point, so, any message must have an immediate and witty remark to make that mission closer to being possible.
I told you so. Did I not?
Yeah—but why did he end it that way?
Samantha rolled her eyes and put the phone away.
That ending, what a horrible thing to do. In hindsight, of course, it all made sense—the clues were there, and they were potent—but she had not put it together until now.
She clicked her tongue, before crawling over the length of her bed, and reaching down, straining her arm. The chance of popping her arm out of the socket was a worthwhile risk if it meant not having to get out of the bed.
She scooped up the book and scowled.
“God Heathen,” she said, shaking her head. “Brandon Scott, you’re an idiot.”
Her phone beeped twice, and she glanced. Jeremy again. A third and fourth message came moments later, and she stuck out her tongue at the device.
The book’s papers did not like being reopened, giving a little crinkle of resistance, but she reread that last bit of the story. The ending.
Her phone beeped again, and she ignored all the half-assed attempts to stage a meetup. She smirked as she typed.
It’s such a bad ending. It did not have enough death at all! I could barely get off to it.
I KNOW! The man is such a tease.