During all the time I spend with Nix, I’ve been letting myself believe that lies of omission aren’t really lies. And the lies I do tell her—my name and where I’m from—don’t really matter compared to the deeper truths I lay bare. She knows my genuine feelings, my fears, my likes, and dislikes . . . things that seem so much more essential than my fake history.
Perversely, I liked watching her talk to my mom. I saw my mother look Nix over with the slightly raised eyebrow that indicated she had encountered an object of interest. It would have killed me to see my mom dismiss Nix as boring.
Best of all was the knowledge that Nix had sought me out that day. That she had gone looking all over campus for a purpose that seemed glaringly clear the moment we were alone.
Her eyes roved over me. She had the hunter’s determination to bring me down and not go home again starving.
I’ve been wanting to fuck Nix since the moment she stepped out of the underground pool. Hell, I might even have felt that first flaring lust the moment I laid eyes on her crossing campus. That burst of sudden heat . . . it wasn’t all hatred.
I tell myself I can’t do it, that it would be wrong to sleep with her under false pretenses.
But every second I’m around her, I’m losing control. It’s like the day I boxed Dean—each glance from her eyes, or bite of her lip is like another blow, knocking me senseless. Tearing off my veneer and taking me back to the man I used to be: prince of the West Coast. My father’s right-hand man, running his business, preparing to take over someday. Surrounded by women and friends, wealth pouring in . . .
That man had confidence. He didn’t have to hide. He never pretended to be weaker, shyer, lesser. He never compromised his integrity with lies.
I want to be myself with Nix, not this alias. I want her to know me, not him.
I want to fuck her as myself.