Her eyes connected with mine.“Don’t lie with me, either.”
“Then that’s the truth.”
She sank deeper into the couch cushions.“I wish I could remember… whatever that night was.”
“That’ll change,” I said.“Memories don’t stay buried forever.”
“Let’s hope not,” she whispered.She quirked her lips.“You said… earlier… that I’m not fragile.”She didn’t look at me.“You still think that?”
“Yeah,” I said immediately.
“Why?”
“You’re sitting in a clubhouse full of strangers with guns, with some psycho on the loose, and you’re not curled into a ball under a blanket.That’s enough of a reason.”
She huffed out a breath.“I’m curled into a ball on the inside.”
“Good thing I’m watching your outside then.”
She blinked at me.
Then… she laughed.
Soft.
Short.
But real.
It was the first real laugh I’d heard from her, and it did something weird to my chest.
“Well,” she said, “that’s comforting.I’m like a stress ravioli and you’re guarding the pasta shell.”
I stared at her.“What the hell does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered and rubbed her forehead.“I think I’m losing it.”
“Yeah,” I said.“Definitely losing it.”
She reached over and punched me in the shoulder.
Light, but it surprised the hell out of me.
I smirked.“You hitting me now?”
“You deserved it.”
“Maybe.”
Her gaze held mine for a beat too long.
And something hot moved under my skin.
Not lust.
Well, notjustlust.
Something else.
