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“No, as long as you’re blunt and honest about whatever it is that’s bothering you. Communication is really important to me.”
“Because of what I did and your dad?” he guesses.
Sometimes I hate how easy it is for Thorin to read me. It’s always been this way between us. A slight facial tic, the way we hold our bodies, we’ve always been able to read each other extremely well.
Unlike right now, when I have no idea what Thorin is trying to convey in his heated stares. Scratch that,I knowwhat he wants to do with his dick, but I don’t understand why. Also, rushing into sex seems like a horrible idea for the two of us. We’re barely figuring out how to co-exist with our feelings.
“We should talk about our plans instead.”
Thorin arches a dark brow. “Instead of…?” he prompts me when I don’t continue.
I gesture towards the tent of the duvet in his lap I’m desperately pretending isn’t there.
“I didn’t realize my cock was going to be that big of a distraction.” His eyes trail down my face towards where I’m clutching the covers to my chest, even though I’m completely bundled up in sweats. I feel far from sexy, but Thorin doesn’t seem to mind.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Live you want to devour me. Blowing out a raspberry, I narrow my eyes at him. “You know what.”
“I think I’d much prefer this conversation,” he slyly smirks. “You said you wanted to communicate.”
“About our feelings, not where your dick wants to go.”
He answers me regardless. “Inside of you.”
I swear he’s trying to make my face permanently turn the color of a tomato. “Thorin.” I try to sound dignified, but the way my breath stalls in my chest conveys I’m having a harder time focusing on the direction I want to take this than he is.
“Bexley.”
I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him. “Come on, be serious.”
“I want to date you.” He reaches up, trailing his fingertips over my temple. “I want to spend time outside of this mess of my life. I want a lot of fucking things when it comes to you that I don’t have the right to anymore, but I’m asking you anyways. Go on a date with me.”
A flutter of nerves and anxiety take root in my stomach, clawing up my chest until my heart beats painfully twice. “Was that you asking?”
Thorin smirks down at me. “Depends. If you say yes, then yes I’m asking. If you decline, then no, I’m not asking. I’ll simply text Detrick to know what your schedule is and you’ll be seeing a lot more of me with silent peer pressure.”
Peer pressure? “I think the law defines that as stalking.”
He shrugs unrepentant. “I think we have a fun way of flirting.”
Is that what’s happening right now? We’re flirting? I can’t remember the last time anyone flirted with me, let alone asked me on a date. Being a recluse from society and spending nearly every available second doing something for someone else doesn’t put me in a lot of positions to date. I wouldn’t even know where to find the time.
As my schedule pops into my head, trying to think of when I’m not busy, a sinking feeling slowly settles into my bones. I’m constantly working in some fashion. And the idea of stopping something, adding more time or taking a break from a charity feels as though my lungs are on fire, threatening to burn me from the inside out. Uncertain of what to do, my wide eyes fly to Thorin’s confused face hovering above mine.
The words pop out of my mouth before I can really formulate a more elaborate response, “I can’t date you.”
Thorin’s brown eyes shutter as he watches me. His jaw tensing as he resists saying whatever immediately came to his mind.
Shit. I need to say something to make him understand the time constraints I’m under. If I push anything back, I’m letting those people down by not giving them my full attention.
“I see.”
No, no you don’t, I want to yell but my mind is still whirling a million miles an hour, my mouth malfunctioning in the process. Some part of me, deep down that’s clinging to the travesty of eight years ago, is holding tight to my vocal cords in case my heart gets involved. Lusting after Thorin is one thing, but dating him opens a whole new can of worms.
He starts to shuffle away from me, the distance growing far greater than the mere few feet he’s putting between us.
