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“I don’t understand,” I say, brows coming together.
“You’ve got a few loose boards, and that railing is a death trap,” he says, tipping his head toward the railing of my wrap-around porch that is, in fact, a death trap. He puts the hammer down, straightens, and walks up the steps, moving until there’s barely a foot between us. His hand moves out, touching the sleeve of the shirt I slept in, a giant oversized thing that’s so worn and comfy, it’s nearly see-through.
“Nice shirt,” he says, his voice gravelly and low. I don’t have to look down to know I’m wearing one of his old shirts from the very first tour they did, one I stole not long after becoming “us” and never gave back.
“It’s old and comfy,” I say in a whisper, looking up into his eyes.
“Hmm,” Riggins says, then his hand moves, wrapping my waist the way he did last night and tugging me close to him until we’re chest to chest. I have no bra under the shirt, not that I even really need it, but the warmth of him, the smell of him that’s so familiar, sweat and musk and woods, it has my traitorous nipples stiffening under my shirt.
I shake my head at him, my hand moving to his chest but not pushing away.
I’m weak when it comes to Riggins Greene. I always have been.
“Friends. We agreed on friends, Riggins,” I remind him in a whisper, even though I don’t feel the warning as deeply as I should. His lips tip up in a smile, the dimple I used to spend my days making silly jokes just to see coming out.
“I lied,” he says. I give him a glare, my hand starting to push on his chest, but his arm grips my waist tighter, his face going a bit serious. “Friends don’t kiss like you kissed me last night, Stella.”
“That was a mistake,” I say. I expect him to be annoyed, to argue with me, but instead a full, boyish smile breaks over his face.
“Well, then, I guess my new goal is to make sure you keep making mistakes, isn’t it?”
“This isn’t who I am anymore, Riggins.”
“Then I can’t wait to get to know the new version of you, Stella. Make her my best friend, too.” He tips his head down, passing his lips to my forehead before letting go and stepping back. “But the next kiss, it’ll be you kissing me, too. I’m not fucking this up any more than I have already.”
I don’t ask what that means because I don’t think I’ll like the answer. Instead, I shake my head and step back, crossing my arms on my chest to hide any pesky nipples showing.
“You have to leave, Riggins,” I say firmly, attempting a glare. He just keeps smiling at me and shakes his head.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I’m not leaving. I’m doing shit. I’m fixing this deck you’re gonna break your neck on, then I’m working on this railing that’s gonna fall in three minutes.”
I glare at him. “I can handle it.”
“You haven’t. You’ve lived here how long?”
The answer is just under four years, so he has a fair point. I won’t tell him that, though.
“Well, I’m suddenly very motivated to do it,” I say, and even I can hear the urgency in my words. This is too much. He is too much. I feel like the entire foundation of my world is shifting, and I’m not able to keep my steady footing.
I need that steady footing.
Something in my words stops him, and he takes me in again, hands in his pockets, looking top to toe the way he used to, taking me in and categorizing, deciding if I was okay,
I’m not, of course.
In so many ways, I’m not okay.
And he knows. Somehow, he can see it the way he always could, seeing through my reassurances and lies and knowing what I need.
“I’ll be done out here in forty or so. I can’t, in good faith, leave this death trap. It’s too dangerous at night and you live too far out for someone to come happen by you and help you. God forbid, if there was an emergency.” I open my mouth to argue but he raises a hand and somehow I know there’s no use in arguing.
I sigh.
“I’ll leave if you agree to talk to me. Soon. My place, yours, don’t care, but Stell, we need to fucking talk. I have a lot to say to you, whether you want to hear it or not, whether it changes anything or not. Twelve steps and all,” he says, and in the same way he could always read me, I read him, knowing it’s an excuse he’s using.
