“I’ll carry the other one on me at all times,” I continue, cutting her off. “If you switch bags, I want you to move the pen to the one you’ll be using before you even move your wallet, taser, and—” I pause. “I almost forgot. I got you a knife to replace the one you gave Dean.”
I reach for my jacket and pull out a small pocketknife I grabbed from the car to give to her. Slipping it into her bag, I close it and freeze.
Tears brim in Summer’s eyes. Her lash line can’t hold them, and they spill down her cheeks. She wipes them away fast, but I’m too shocked to react. Summer crying isn’t something my brain files underpossible. I’m so used to her being strong, confident, like nothing can shake her, that seeing tears in her eyes feels surreal.
“Summer?” I utter her name when my brain starts working again. Dropping the bag to the floor, I stride to her, forcing her to look at me, while she’s fighting to hide her face.
“F-fucking allergies!”
“What allergies? You said you only had the peanut one.”
“I’m allergic to... you being that kind and caring.” She sniffles as I cup her cheeks and tilt her head up, watching the damp streaks ruin the makeup under her eyes. Those tears don’t stop, even as she struggles against me, trying to break free. I pull her closer, letting her face bury in my chest, while her arms wrap around me, pawing at the back of my shirt and the skin beneath it. Only then do her sobs subside. I kiss the top of her head, squeezing her close, my chest tightening so hard at the realization of what’s happening, it feels like it’s crushing my lungs. Our games, our back-and-forth...She didn’t know she wasn’t alone anymore.
Now she does.
I know those are tears of happiness, but one thing is concrete now—I’d burn the fuckin’ world if she ever spills such from pain or sadness.
Pressing another soft kiss atop her head makes her loosen the tight hold on me, and her body relaxes, breathing turning steady.
“Let’s get you out of this dress and go to bed.”
I start unzipping it again when she pulls away, batting wet lashes at me. Even like this, she’s seductive as hell.
“I’m not fucking you tonight.” She’s so cute, the way she sniffles through that sentence.
“I’m not into zoophilia.”
“W-what?”
“You look like a panda with all that smeared makeup.”
The speed with which her face turns from sad to mad is frightening. She lets go, slaps me across my ribs, and hurries into the bathroom.
“Fuck. I do look like a panda.”
I follow after her, leaning against the doorframe, hands crossed before my chest, observing her removing the makeup. With or without, she’s always stunning.
“Quit staring at me that way.”
“What way?”
“You know... like you just saw me crying. I wasn’t.”
I’m staring at her like she’s all I’d ever want to see, and she thinks I pity her?
She watches me from the reflection as I inch closer to her until I’m at her back.
“You—crying? Not possible.” Moving her hair to one side, I grab onto the zipper, dragging it down slowly, my fingers grazing bare skin. “That sounds equally unrealistic as Santa being real, or you having fears.”
“Everyone has fears. I’m sure you do too.” She offers that statement in the form of a question. One I think neither of us is ready to answer yet.
And I see the exact moment she realizes her question is going to be left unattended. It’s like a mask dropping down her face. It’s scary how fast she can feel untouchable again.
Sliding the short sleeves past her shoulders, the dress pools at her feet, yet I don’t allow my eyes to land on her body—a desperate attempt at self-control.
Summer reaches for a T-shirt on the counter, but I rip it away from her fingers and throw it to the floor.
“The always-naked-in-bed rule.” I slap her ass to seal the reminder.
