“Yeah.”
His thumb runs over my knuckle.
“I've never stayed out all night.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
I turn his hand palm-up on my thigh. Trace the line.
“Not once in your entire life?”
“Not once.”
I run my thumb across his knuckles. His hand uncurls under mine.
“Okay,” I say. “Then let's talk about that.”
“I'm going to tell you something and you can take it or leave it,” I continue.
“Okay.”
I pull him with me against the headboard until his back's against my chest, his ass settled between my thighs, my arms crossed over his collarbones.
“I'm not your dad. I'm not anybody's dad. I don't know shit about how to do a family.”
“Okay.”
“But I know how to not be anybody's bitch.”
He turns his head to look at me.
“I know how to walk into a room with a guy who's trying to tell me who I am, and I know how to stand in that room until he stops.”
“Maddox—”
“Shut up. I'm talking.”
He shuts up.
I put my hand on his neck. I don't grip. I just put it there, the way I put my hand on him last night when I wanted him to stay with me. His pulse is going under my fingers.
“He's going to yell at you.”
“I know.”
My thumb finds the tendon behind his ear. Settles.
“He's going to tell you I used you.”
“I know.”
My thumb presses harder against the tendon.
“He's going to tell you I'm a piece of shit and you're a weak kid who got taken in and the only reason you let me touch you is because I'm a better liar than he thought.”
“Maddox...”
