Page 47

He lifted a brow. “Happy?”

I shrugged, a smile playing on my lips like a striptease. Moistening them, I imagined what lay underneath. I’d seen him before, but not when he was hard for me.

He scoffed, speaking quietly. “Not like you haven’t seen it before,” he murmured.

“True,” I said softly.

Friendship seemed a distant memory. The line drawn between us somewhere along the way had warped until all that remained had faded completely.

I could no longer deny the pull between us. I wanted him so badly.

Standing from the couch, I adjusted my shorts, slowly making my way over to his bed. His drunken, lust filled eyes soaked me in. My singlet that clung too tightly to my chest. My bottoms too short.

“This is a bad idea,” he rasped, a muscle in his jaw jutted as he spoke.

As my knees hit the bed, he eyed me curiously, waiting for my next move. I didn’t have a plan. I just needed him to stop pretending this wasn’t real. As much as I hated using my body to do that, I couldn’t ignore this thing between us any longer.

Crawling onto the bed, I rested a leg on either side of him seconds before his hands landed on my hips, sinking into my flesh. The groan that came from him sent flames between my thighs, and, holding his gaze, I let my palm cautiously hover above his chest. He followed the movement, paused, then gave a single nod.

I wanted to learn every inch of him. His tattoos. His scars. His story. As much as I wanted him, I needed him to trust me enough to open up to me.

My fingers drifted over his skin, featherlight and curious.

“Red.” His voice cracked, desire drenched with a pain like no other. “I can’t drag you into this. It’s not fair,” he whispered.

All sense of cockiness had dissolved. Only raw truth spilled from his eyes and straight into mine. I searched his face for anything. I didn’t know what he needed. “Whatever is going on, we can get through it together. I know we can,” I assured him.

My hand stopped its exploration directly over his heart. I felt the cage in his chest tighten.

He shook his head. “Not this.”

“Try me,” I leveled with him.

He stared up at me like he had never done before. His eyes closed, beats pausing between us before he focused on me again. He dragged in a long breath. “If I tell you… you become part of it.” He moved my hand off him. “You need to go. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

I stared at him numbly before narrowing my eyes at him. “Stop deciding what’s best for me,” I demanded.

A pained expression pressed into his features. He forced a hand up the side of his face. “I’m sorry. Fuck, Red, I…”

I pushed up off the bed, backing away.

Un-fucking-believable.

I blinked back tears threatening to surface. Held my chin high. Fuck him.

I drew in a deep breath, calming myself before I spoke. “You know what? I don’t need this,” I said, my voice steadfast as I spoke. “I don’t deserve this, this, whatever this is.” I stared at him square on, every ounce of emotion held within me now pouring from my eyes and drilling into his. “I deserve honesty, truth, not fucking whiplash every time we are alone.”

Pain detonated across his face.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t relief.

It was the kind of devastation that hollowed a person out from the inside, as though I’d reached into his chest, wrapped my hand around his heart, and torn it free. His hand lifted toward me on instinct, trembling as though every part of him wanted to stop me. Then it fell.

His lips parted, words gathering that never came.

I waited.

Just say something.