Can’t Win Me Back

When Jonah reached the bedside, he leaned in slowly, giving Julien an unobstructed view of his tanned skin, well defined abs, and that devastatingly captivating face.

Reclining against the headboard, Julien found himself lost in Jonah's eyes. His breath hitched, and his mind momentarily blanked as Jonah's mesmerizing gaze locked onto him.

What could he do? His heart still betrayed him, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. He was a fool-a pathetic fool.

Jonah braced his arms on either side of Julien's head, his dark eyes overflowing with a raw, possessive affection. It was as if he sought to consume Julien-just as he had last night.

"Julien, does it still hurt—"

"Fuck you!"

Julien's bloodshot eyes blazed as he swung his hand, landing a sharp slap across Jonah's face.

The illusion of his frailty shattered. A crimson handprint bloomed on Jonah's cheek in a split second, the flesh puffing up visibly.

But the sting barely registered. Not when the ache in Jonah's chest was already unbearable.

"Jonah, right now, not only do I loathe you, but everything about you every single thing you do disgusts me!"

With all his strength, Julien shoved Jonah away. Shaking, he yelled, "What made you think that you could touch me? What made you think you had the fucking right?"

the first time—like a stray dog caught in the rain, cornered with

you had at the bar last night was

off, his voice sharp enough to wound. "Who the hell do you think you are? You mean nothing to

them on. Then, digging into his wallet, he pulled out

slapped the money against Jonah's

don't ever show your face in front

he turned on his

silent, broken only by the leaden thud of Jonah's heart, a

and Evan rushed inside, panic written all over his face. "Mr. Lovelace took off! You fought so hard to find him! You can't give up now! You have to win him back no matter what

remained motionless, his face pale

had witnessed Jonah's last heartbreak, watching him spiral into an abyss so deep that it nearly swallowed him

hates me," Jonah said, his

them tightly, his fingers pressing into

mad? You actually believed the shit he just spewed? Words said out of anger don't mean

swore I'd blow up the president's house in a fit of rage. Does that mean I'd

everything-my pride, my dignity-just to hold onto him. But what

himself, he looked like a discarded tin can, crushed and

one who refused to see it. I was the one who clung to