Page 82 of Trailer Trash

I wince, feeling as stupid as I did in my kitchen.

“Of course not. I’m sorry. I, uh, need a drink.”

I spin fast and leave the room to fetch a bottle of water, scolding myself. I seem to be good at making things worse.

The night carries on and he stays mostly quiet. We make dinner together, watch a movie, and he falls asleep on the couch by midnight, which is unusual for him.

I use the restroom, and when I return, I sit beside him. His long body lies stretched out, his head next to my hip. I get comfortable.

Killian rolls over and—

He rests his head on my lap, then quickly drifts back to sleep. I hold my hands up, stunned we’re touching.

Was that a move? Is he making a move?

I don’t know, but as I stare down at him, warmth blooms in my chest. I love this closeness to him. It feels so good.

He might have truly rolled over and ended up using my lap as a pillow in the fog of sleep, but I don’t care. It’s strange to explain this feeling, but it’s like Killian is mine again. Like I can touch him.

I must be craving more humiliation, but it’s too tempting.

With the lightest touch, I graze my fingertips along his jawline. The end-of-day stubble is course under my touch, but I love it mixed with the softness of his skin. I trace his scar from the corner of his mouth all the way to just before his ear. Then I smooth his eyebrow. The scar there is hidden beneath the black hair. I almost wish it wouldn’t. He has such a perfect face, but something about the scars makes the distance between us feel smaller.

Like the imperfect version of this man could want a poor girl like me. The curvy girl that doesn’t have a perfect body like his ex. I’m a woman Killian would have never spoken to if not for his overdose. We met by chance under terrible circumstances, and that’s the part that’s so hard to accept.

I am not supposed to be here.

When do we go our separate ways?

Softly, I stroke his hair, wrapping the curls around my finger. With my other hand, I hold my book, reading into the night with him close. It’s my happy place. My Killian, plus my book, and no drugs. Just us. It’s a happy place.

In the morning, I grab my bag and new car keys. As I step onto the elevator, a hand hooks over the door, holding it open.

“You’re leaving,” Killian says.

I check my watch. “Yeah, my shift is over.”

He purses his lips.

I wonder if he even knows I pet him all night. Now I kind of feel like a creeper.

“Goodbye, Killian,” I say nicely, and guide his hand off the door. He appears mad as they close, but it is a win for me.

This was my first shift back. It was weird and confusing, but for a little while, he was mine. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared. I kept my job, got a new car, and Killian probably isn’t doing this because I cried in my kitchen — or maybe he is. Either way, time will make this easier. We’re figuring out the after-part. Everything will steadily go back to normal.

He looked hot today, though.

Really hot.

Butterflies sneak up again, and I cringe.

I wish—

I stop myself, because what good will that do except bring tears.

I get home and find another bouquet of roses on my doorstep.

What the heck?