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He moves close enough to whisper. "Yes or no?"
It's hard to think anything with his breath warm on my ear. My body is buzzing. I want to touch him. I want to throw him against the wall and rip his clothes off.
This lights me up inside.
I rise to my tip-toes to whisper in his ear. "Yes. But I still want stability. I know it's not exciting, but—"
"I get it." He presses his palm into my lower back. "You don't want to rely on anyone."
I nod.
He drags his fingertips up my spine, over the fabric of my dress. "You relied on me the other night."
"The other night?" Please keep touching me.
"You called me when you were drunk." He drags his fingertips back down my spine. "You relied on me to pick you up, get you home." He moves closer. His voice drops to a barely there whisper. "To console you about your friend."
My voice is just as soft. "Of course."
"You'd call me if you needed to talk."
"Yeah."
"If you needed a favor."
I lean in to his touch. "Yeah."
"Then why can't you rely on someone someday?"
The words fall off my lips without passing through my brain. "They wouldn't be you." I pull back enough to look into Kit's deep eyes. "I know I can trust you." My chest gets light. My stomach too. "I know you won't abandon me the way other people have."
He stares back at me. There's something in his dark eyes, but I haven't got a clue what it is.
His gaze goes to the side of the stage. Mine follows. Mal is watching us. It's not in a particularly guard dog kind of way. It's more curious. Well, by Mal's standards. He's always protective.
I wait until Mal's attention turns to Joel screwing around on his drums.
Then I move closer to Kit.
His eyes meet mine. "You'd call your brothers to help you."
I nod.
"You can count on them."
"You're not going to convince me there's something wrong with wanting to stand on my own two feet."
"It's not that." His voice gets soft, sweet. "I want you to feel like you can trust somebody to stick around."
"I trust Mal and Ethan."
"To stick around?"
Not exactly. I love my brothers, but they choose music over being around every time they go on tour. I don't begrudge them their careers or their success, but I can't fight that sting of abandonment every time they leave.
My voice is a whisper. "No."
"You trust me to stick around?"
