Page 123 of Ghosted

“Don’t.” My voice comes out harsher than I mean, so I pull it back. “Don’t finish that like anything he did gets to change what I want.”

Her lips part.

I lift my hand slowly, giving her every chance to move away. She doesn’t, so I touch her jaw, just enough to feel her shiver under my palm.

“I want you,” I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “I wanted you before him. I wanted you after. I want you right now so bad I can barely stand here and look at you without wanting to fuck you.”

Her breath catches, but she still doesn’t move away.

My thumb drags along her jaw, careful even though nothing inside me feels careful. “I want to watch you fall apart under me while I give you something that stays. Something Johnny couldn’t touch. Something no other guy after me could ever get close enough to ruin.” My throat works around the rest, around the ugly truth sitting behind my teeth. “I want to mark you so deep every man after me feels too fucking late.”

This time, she smiles.

Small, clearly tired, and a little broken at the edges, but real enough to fuck me up completely.

“Every man after you?” she asks, voice quiet.

My thumb stills against her jaw. “There won’t be one.”

Her smile fades, but she doesn’t pull away. “Jagger.”

“I know.” My voice drops, rough and low between us. “Possessive. Fucked up. Red flag. Whatever. I know.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because you asked for honest.”

For a second, all she does is look at me, breathing shallow, eyes moving over my face like she’s trying to find the lie and getting pissed off when she can’t.

Then her fingers curl around my wrist.

Not to pull me off.

To hold me there.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she whispers.

The words hit harder than they should. Harder than a fist. Harder than anything Johnny could put in front of me tonight.

“I won’t.”

Alice closes the last inch herself.

Her mouth touches mine, careful at first, almost testing, and I let her have it that way even though every violent thing in me wants to drag her in and prove she’s here.

With me.

Choosing me.

I keep my hand loose against her jaw, keep my body still in the cold water, and let her decide how much of me she wants.

Then she makes this small, frustrated sound against my mouth and kisses me harder.

That’s when I finally move.

The water shifts between us as I slide my hand into her wet hair and kiss her back, slow enough that she can stop me, deep enough that she knows I don’t want to. Her hands find my shoulders, then my neck, and the whole room seems to blur at the edges until there’s nothing left but chlorine, cold water, her mouth, and the fucked-up little truth sitting in my chest.

I don’t know how to love anything without wanting to keep it.