AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We’re normal? Our group? That would be a first for any of us.”
She pushes my chest with enough force it nearly rocks me. “I’m not playing! What do I have to do to make you realize we can’t be around each other anymore? Do you think I like hurting you? Do yo
u think this is fun for me?”
I snatch her wrist when she goes to nudge me again and the seriousness in my voice startles even me. “No, I don’t.”
A strand of her hair sticks to her cheek, and I lift it off, to behind her shoulder, then permit my fingers to skim along her arm. Abby edges closer, almost like she wants me to touch her as much as I crave the contact.
The instinct is to gather Abby near, and I don’t claim to understand it. I’ve dated other girls, kissed more than my fair share, but I’ve never been drawn to any of them like I am to her. As always, there’s a push and a pull between us. The need to devour her, yet run away.
Her hazel eyes look up at me and there’s a ton going on there. Confusion, pain, and as my fingers continue to caress her arm, a hint of lust. The lust I understand, but I don’t claim to be very good at any other emotion. Problem—neither is Abby. We’re both in uncharted territory.
“I can’t be your friend, Logan. I can’t be Isaiah’s friend or Rachel’s friend or West’s friend. You could have been killed and I’m not okay with that.”
“You could die.”
“That’s my choice. This little convo between us changes nothing. So if it makes you all feel better, I like all of you, but we’re no longer friends. Nonnegotiable. So, see ya.”
“According to you, I’m in danger because I saw who shot you. How is walking away from me helping my situation?”
“I made a deal with Linus. He’s claiming he saw the shooter and that you never entered the alley. Congrats, you are officially out of danger.”
Abby does the motion like she’s cleaning her hands and then shows me her palms, like we’re done, but I’m not done. “What was your end of the deal?”
“Not your problem.”
“It is my problem.”
Abby gives that dismissive smile—that one that crawls under my skin. The one that suggests she knows it all and the rest of the world understands nothing. “Explain to me how exactly my problems are your problems? We met through a mutual friend. We flirt. We play. Nowhere along the way did my problems become your problems.”
“We kissed,” I say and that man-eating grin only grows.
“You’re right, we kissed, and we both know it didn’t mean a thing. You and I don’t do attachments and what you’re asking for sounds an awful lot like caring.”
Her words leave a mark and it’s not one I’m proud of. She leans up on her elbow and that mask I’ve seen several times on her face, the one she wears when she works, when she’s on the streets is plastered on her face. “Can you do that, Logan? It’s one thing to play with me, but can you care for me?”
“You don’t think I care?” I rise up, looming over her.
“I think you’re mistaking attraction for caring. I think you’re a good guy who wants to save the girl, but I don’t need saving.” Abby slides into my personal space, her fingers walking erotically up my chest. “Can you fall for the drug dealer, the girl who doesn’t mind kissing one guy and then another, the girl who gets in cars with strangers, rides with them, and then leaves them so they can get high? Can you fall for a girl who stuck a knife in a guy? The girl whose father was a dealer, a killer? Whose mother was a junkie and a whore?”
“You’re more than that.”
“I’m not. You were just hoping for more.” Her fingers reach the collar of my shirt and she eases her head close to mine. So close our noses nearly touch, so close that our lips are a breath’s distance apart. So close my fingers twitch with the idea of grabbing onto her thighs and drawing her body on top of me so that her hips are settled directly over mine.
Abby’s eyes bore into me as she whispers, “It’s attraction, Logan. That’s it. We’ve been a slow burn for months so instead of wasting this time talking about things we can’t change, let’s return to what we’re good at—let’s play.”
Her sweet smell envelops me and my body pulsates with the need to taste her, touch her, find that quick rhythm that was promised in that shared kiss.
Abby skims her fingers along my arm and it’s like fire flickering from her nails. “You scared to kiss me, Logan?”
No, not at all. My arm curls around her stomach and as I sit up, I press her into me. She grins, thinking she’s winning this game, but she’s not. I shift, guiding her body down, covering hers with mine, and right as her back is about to brush against the bed, I slow and make sure the contact with the covers is light, gentle.
I’m careful with her injuries, making sure that the bandaged area on her back is the last to touch and I lower my head, kissing the area above her exit wound, and her breathing hitches. I continue a slow trail along her collarbone and up her neck. Each taste of Abby is sweet and warm and makes me crave more.
When her head fully sinks into the pillow, Abby looks up at me in confusion. Her fingers in my hair, her hand cupping the back of my neck, her foot automatically hooked around mine. Our bodies are exactly where she wants them to be, where I want them to be, but the emotions are off—that’s because there are emotions. That’s because I’m no longer playing.
“No, I’m not scared to kiss you.” I nuzzle her jawline as I run my hand along the length of her waist. “I’m not scared to feel something for you, either.”
