Page 36

I know he had a toothbrush for me last time I stayed, but I was puking, so I hope he has a fresh one.

I follow his instructions and go into the bathroom. After washing my face as best as I can, I find a new toothbrush under the sink and brush my teeth. When I look at myself in the mirror, I grimace at the bruise already forming around my eye and the swelling on that side of my face. I touch my cheek gently but then pull back because it hurts.

I relieve myself, and before I change into his T-shirt, I check out the rest of my body in the mirror. There’s a bruise forming on my side as well, where someone must have punched or kicked me. I’ve probably also got bruised ribs. Fun. It does hurt to take a deep breath. The fight seems like it was forever ago, even though it was less than a couple of hours earlier.

Lev’s shirt is just a tad too big for me, but it’ll do. I leave the sweatpants off and carry them with me into the room. Lev is standing there, waiting for me, and he sucks in a breath as he looks me up and down.

I smile at him. “I don’t like to sleep in pants.” I say. “Is that okay?”

He strolls past me, his hand making contact with my hip, and leans in for another kiss. My heart rate speeds up again, and I kiss him back. This one is a little less intense than the one in the kitchen, but it’s still magical.

“That’s absolutely perfect,” he says. “I’m going to get ready. Do you want to . . . um . . . do you want to sleep, er, uh, stay in my bed with me tonight?”

I don’t answer with words. Instead, I give him a quick peck and head over to his bed, crawling under the covers.

He smiles. “I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, Lev’s bathroom door opens, and I almost choke. He’s in a T-shirt and just his boxer briefs, too. He’s not wearing sweatpants anymore. With the soft light in the room and the scruff of his facial hair, he looks so incredible. Tattoos line his arms and swirl up under the sleeves of his T-shirt. I can’t see the rest of them, but I assume they’re on his torso as well. I make a mental note to look at them more closely—and fully—sometime soon.

He comes over to the bed and crawls in beside me. Yawning, he settles in on his side and looks at me. I’m lying on my back, my hands crossed on my stomach.

“How are you?” he asks.

I turn my head toward him, tracing his face with my eyes. “I’m okay,” I reply. “A little sore, but I’ll be alright.”

“Can I ask you what happened tonight?”

I sigh. “Sure. But can you . . . Would you mind . . . Can you . . .” Ugh! I run my hand through my hair, frustrated with myself.

He looks at me, concern etching his face. “What do you need?” He asks this softly, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Can we just get a little bit closer? Maybe you can . . . put your feet on mine or touch my leg or something?” I don’t know why I feel like such a spaz asking him this, but I really need to be close to him, and this is the only way I can get what I need. I have to be honest.

Lev smiles at me, and I tense as I get the sense he’s pitying me.

“Hey, hey,” he says, moving over a little bit so our bodies are closer.

His hand reaches out, and he starts drawing soft circles on my arm and the top of my hand, careful to avoid my sore knuckles. I take a deep breath and let the tension go, enjoying the contact.

“This okay?” he asks.

I nod. “This is good. Thank you.” I take a moment to compose myself, letting the soft touch of Lev’s thumb lull me into a peaceful trance. “So, I was at the Exchange with a few friends.” I continue to tell Lev everything that happened tonight, from the group of guys to Keira being grabbed to the guy calling me a slur to when Garrett had me outside. The entire time I’m talking, he makes circles around my hands and then strokes his fingers gently up and down my arm. It feels so fucking good, and although I’m exhausted, I feel myself getting hard.

When I finish the story, Lev shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

“Just all of it, Dare. I mean, you were helping your friend, and now you’re all banged up, and that guy is a complete asshole, going after your sexuality. I mean, who even says that shit anymore? I just feel bad for you.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” I say, an edge creeping into my voice.

Lev stops rubbing my arm. “Wha—”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Lev. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” My cheeks warm, and my voice sounds a little more harsh than I wanted it to.

“I hear you,” he says. “I just . . . I don’t know what . . .”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. Please.” I shift myself toward him a little bit, wincing at the tug from the bruise on my side. “Just kiss me.”