“Thanks, Holden.” I nod gratefully and disappear.
I scarf it down, grateful I don’t have to dance around him watching me over a table where he gets to see what a messy eater I am when I’mstarving.
Night falls.
I hear him making the rounds, just like old times, securing the entire house.
Every time he passes by my door, I lift my head. I imagine I’m brave enough to charge out there and confront him.
Enough of this. We need to talk about what happened, I’d say.
No, we don’t, he’d say.
If you’re mad, you can tell me. It’s healthier than keeping it all bottled up.
He’d deny it, of course, and growl back something about how I’m being dramatic.
But would he ever admit to seeing me differently? Ever since this little treasure hunt tossed us together?
Another voice in my head warns me that’s unfair.
He’s probably more disgusted and ashamed than I am. He kissed a girl he practically used to babysit. I’m hardly mature enough to warrant more than a basic, brutish attraction.
That shouldn’t hurt so much.
He’s a lot older and wiser than I am, supposedly. Definitely more experienced.
He has a freaking half-grown daughter.
Somehow, the single dad thing makes him a bigger, darker, dumber sin.
But also, so what?
So fucking what if we had a little manic burst and I roped him into showing some real, human emotion?
It’s not apocalyptic.
I’ve kissed plenty of boys. I bet he’s had his share of women, too.
Kit proves he’s had sex at least once.
Nope. Do not think about that man making babies.
Ugh.
My brain loves intrusive thoughts of the sexy kind like nobody’s business. It especially loves indulging the image of him buried inside me, pinning me to the bed, baring his teeth and filling me with his seed until I scream.
Holyshit,this is torture.
We need to get over this. We need to sit down and talk it out like adults so we can move on.
But every time his firm, strong footsteps sweep past my door, I stay silent. Buried beneath the covers, quietly fuming like the anxiety-eaten little coward I am.
Because there’s still one thing I fear more than Holden shredding my heart again by telling me I’m being ridiculous.
If he admits kissing medisgustedhim. My ego couldn’t take the hit.
It’s one thing for him to think it was a crime of passion. But if things get personal, if he tells me that he still sees me as this immature little girl after everything…
