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Now Jade.
Chad?No, not so much.
When I found the pictures and messages on his cell yesterday morning, I didn’t feel the same dread and heartache at the thought of losing my friends. What hit me was an overwhelming feeling of relief. It was my gut telling me I’d actually known all along that my relationship with Chad wasn’t what I wanted it to be. But instead of seeing the signs, I’d let this deep, entrenched trauma take over.
I needed to prove to the world Icouldbe loved.
I needed to prove to the people whoshould have lovedme that Icould be loved.
But all I’d done was to prove how good I was at ignoring the signs when I wanted something so bad.
I groaned as I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, my body utterly exhausted and protesting every move I made. The oversized hoodie Reed had given me late last night hung almost to my knees as I finally got to my feet. It was thick and heavy, like a weighted blanket, but it was the smell that had me wishing I didn’t have to take it off.
Whatever Reed wore was a far more masculine scent than you’d expect from your typical businessman. It was warm and woody, like sitting next to an open fire in the middle of winter. There was nothing like it—the smell of the fire burning, the flicker of the flames, and how they licked at your skin.
Captivating yet potentially dangerous at the same time.
Just like how I was beginning to see Reed.
He had the looks, the tattoos, the slightly cocky but not quite arrogant attitude.
He wasn’t dangerous in your traditional sense, brandishing weapons or making threats of violence. Instead, the danger came in just how comfortable I felt around him and how easily I was already letting him in when I should really be shutting everyone out.
As I stepped around the bed, I noticed a couple of bags across the room by the window. I walked over and sat on the floor next to them, pulling one open and digging through the contents.
New clothes, underwear, toiletries.
All are folded and packed meticulously.
Tags still on.
And all the right size for me, which would have been quite difficult given my body had a little curve to it here and there.
Obviously, the work of a woman.
“Wonder if he has a girlfriend,” I murmured to myself, already planning an excuse for getting out of here if that were true.
“He does not.” Looking back over my shoulder, I found Reed with a smirk on his face as he leaned against a doorway—shirtless—his abs glistening with sweat and a loose pair of track pants hanging low on his hips.
Really low.
Heart-stoppingly fucking low.
Revealing a perfectly carved V that sunk below the waistband.
The tattoos from his neck crawled down onto his chest, covering every inch while leaving his torso almost completely clean, with the exception of a scar on his left side, a few inches long. I opened my mouth to ask about the story behind it, but I was quickly distracted as he took the T-shirt in his hand and pulled it over his head, letting it hang around his neck for a minute.
My heart picked up its pace, turning from a beat to more of a flutter.
“You want to check cupboards in case I have a girl stashed somewhere?” he teased with a raised brow.
My tongue snaked out, wetting my lips before they turned into a smile. “Probably no point, to be honest,” I fired back. “Apparently, I’m pretty good at not seeing what’s right in front of me.”
He huffed out a laugh. “I think we all have a bad habit of ignoring the signs that something might hurt us,” he explained as he unwounded the tape that was wrapped around his hands and wrists. It was the kind fighters used to support their hands and prevent injuries. “That’s only human.”
“Well, I can confirm, whoever she was that helped you with this, she got everything right,” I commented, grabbing hold of the blankets on the bed and attempting to pull myself to my feet.
“I have an incredibly good assistant called Martha,” he said with a nod. “I’d tell her how well she did, but she’ll probably ask for a raise.”
