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“If she’d had more guts or I’d been less oblivious…” He turns toward me. “It was for the best, but—”
“That doesn’t make it easier to trust anyone?”
He nods.
“Do you trust me?”
“I want to.” His eyes bore into mine. “I want that so fucking badly.”
“Me too.”
“You’re such a good friend. I hate asking for more.”
Friend. What an ugly word. It’s a knife in my gut. It’s acid on my tongue. It’s a raincloud on a sunny day. “Asking is the only way you’ll get something.”
He nods. “Promise me something.”
“What?”
“That you’ll tell me if I’m about to lose you.”
“You won’t lose me.”
“Promise anyway.”
I stare back into his blue eyes. “Okay. I promise.”
Chapter 18
Leighton
White light falls over the dresser.
Over the black bedspread.
Over Ryan’s inked arms.
Those arms are around me. His hands are on my stomach. His chest is against my back.
There’s a thick blanket between my ass and his crotch.
But it’s not enough.
I can feel his morning wood.
Every part of me goes warm. I press my eyelids together. Let myself believe his erection is more than a biological response.
The weight on the bed shifts as he stirs.
He pulls his arms to his sides, pushes himself to a seated position, reaches for something on the dresser.
His glasses.
Black rectangles frame his blue eyes as he slides them on.
They’re so…
He’s so…
