Page 30 of Hearts on the Line

“You’ll take me to bed?”

“Brush your teeth and shower first. You’ll feel better.”

She opens her eyes and peeks at me. “You’re kind. Always have been. I’m sorry.”

I’m not sure what she’s apologizing for. There are more than a few transgressions that happened between us, then and now. I let it slide. It’s easier to ignore, even if my breath catches when she leans against me to slowly strip down to her bra and panties. She steadies herself at the sink and brushes her teeth, catching my eye in the mirror.

“I’m not looking.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

She’s been sent here to punish me. I’m certain of it.

“Smooth, Arden.”

She spits, then sways toward me, nearly falling over. “Can’t blame a girl for swinging her shot.”

I chuckle. “Swinging her shot?”

“Shooting her swing? Swinging her… Jesus, I’m just sayin’…”

And that right there is when I know I’m in trouble. For all her polish and guarded distance, I hear a glimmer of that Boston accent, the rough, untumbled part of her. Reminds me of the way the wisps of her hair used to flutter by her ears after track practice. Or the suntan lines and the way the tip of her nose would burn before it faded to a warm bronze and made her dark eyes sparkle. The way she would lean against the ice cream counter in high school and take my order, like she had been waiting all day to smile at me.

That’s what lingers between us.

What happens after that when now isn’t a possibility?

“You see me though, don’t you? Do you notice me?” She drags her hand up my chest, then bops my nose. Her fingers skirt along my jaw, then slip into my hair, her eyes burning into mine in some dare.

Do I notice her? I almost drove my fucking truck into a tree when I saw her.

She grins at me and tips her head back like she wants a kiss.

I swallow, pull myself into the present, and gently steer her inside the shower. When I’m certain she’s not going to tumble out, I run out to toss her clothes in the washer and grab one of my old T-shirts for her to wear.

It’s quiet then. Just the sound of the water running and her pushing the shampoo through her long hair. When she’s finished, I hand her a towel and turn away, waiting for her to dress, then guide her to the bathroom sink.

“I remember, you know,” she whispers. Sloane meets my stare in the mirror as I run the brush through her hair. I have one hand cupped on her shoulder to hold her steady, and maybe me too.

“Remember what?” I reach around, grabbing an elastic from the counter.

She pushes off the counter and collapses against my chest. She’s getting my shirt wet, and I don’t care, except that now I’ll have to smell her fucking shampoo all night.

“Wait, you’re braiding my hair? He never did that. I don’t…”

She runs her hands over my waist and tilts her chin up, smiling up at me in the mirror. “We look so good, don’t we?”

Minus her black eye and my broken heart, I might agree. Instead, I guide her forward again so I can finish braiding her hair.

“What are we going to do about us, Ethan? We’re so sad, you and me. Me and you.”

I drop the finished braid against her back, and she turns to face me. She walks her fingertips down my chest, each strike cracking me open, and I think I’m a dead man before her eyes meet mine once more.

“I’ll tell you a secret. I never stopped thinking of you. At night, when there’s nothing left to distract me, it’s always you. When I did something cool, I’d whisper it out loud, pretend you were there next to me, because I couldn’t forget. And I fucking tried, Ethan. I suck at it. It was always you, even when I hated you for it.”

Sloane drifts closer, her lips parting like she’s about to kiss me. I hate myself, but it’s not going to happen like this. I angle my face away at the last second.

She rests against my chest, wrapping her arms around me. I think we’re hugging? I know she won’t remember any of this. Know it, but that still doesn’t stop me from reaching down and carrying her into my bed while whispering, “Me, too, baby.”