Page 117 of Scarred

“My boyfriend,” I smile, feeling the giddiness rise inside just hearing it on my lips.

“Fuck the potatoes,” he growls, turning me around and dropping to his knees. “My girlfriend’s pussy tastes a whole hell of a lot better anyway.”

He dives in, and dinner is the last thing on my mind as he lifts my leg over his shoulder and shows me just how much he loves making his girlfriend moan his name.

THIRTY-FIVE

CAYDEN

Her body is snuggled up against mine, and I realize I’m no longer focused on the movie anymore as I listen to the sounds of her breathing.

After we got out of the shower, I grilled us up some steaks, and by the grace of God, our potatoes were saved. We finished the bottle of wine while we talked about my first years in the NHL and her time with the dance production company up in New York, as we ate dinner on the balcony.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this relaxed or content.

Her dark lashes flutter softly in her sleep as I memorize every detail down to the placement of each freckle dusted across her nose.

She’s in one of my t-shirts that I gave her after our shower, and I can’t stop thinking about how much I love having her here.

I should wake her up and get one of my drivers I’ve used before to get her home safely, but my arm tightens around her instead.

The silence of the house doesn’t feel so lonely anymore…it feels more like a home.

Stirring in her sleep, her eyes blink open.

“I fell asleep on our first date, didn’t I?” She whispers. “I’m the worst girlfriend ever.”

Girlfriend.

The word should send me running.

It should have me throwing up every wall that I’ve carefully built into place.

Instead, the only thing I can think of is how much I love hearing the sound of it.

“You snore too. Total turn off,” I shake my head sadly and pretend to be offended.

“I do not,” she laughs, playfully hitting my chest. “I should probably go, though, so you can get some sleep.”

I know what letting her stay means.

It’s removing one of the last barriers. It’s letting her in in ways I swore I would never do again.

“Stay,” I whisper before I can stop it.

Her eyes search mine, and I know she understands what I’m really asking.

I’m not asking her to sleep here.

I’m asking her to step into a part of my life that I’ve shut off from everyone else.

It’s one word.

The most terrifying word I’ve said in almost three years.

“But Scarlett…”

“Will love having you here for breakfast,” I say, scooping her up and carrying her to my bathroom.