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Andrea's words wrap around my chest, squeezing my heart. I know the feeling. I know the shards and my cracks remain.
"What about you? Why do you like the lyrics?" Her eyes bore into mine, demanding an answer. A part of me flinches, well-versed in the art of evasion.
Safety lies in silence, but the truth tugs at my heartstrings.
"Because I'm human." I shrug, trying to make it sound like it doesn't hit too close to home.
People don't think about the shattered parts of men, the way life and love can upend everything they know about themselves. But it happens, even to the best of us. And men aren't immune.
One of her eyebrows rises. If she looked interested before, now she’s even more intrigued. "Who shattered you?" she asks bluntly.
Not who broke your heart.
Not who fucked your best friend.
But who shattered you?
Natalie.
A vivid image materializes in my mind, like a kaleidoscope's vibrant pattern swirling into focus. Clear eyes in the middle of a milky-skinned face, with a mischievous smile and dark hair that frames her face.
The vision quickly blurs. "Someone who made me realize that I will never allow myself to be broken again."
"You only think that because you're still shattered," she says, her words as blunt as ever. "But broken things can heal and become much stronger than when they began.
Andrea rises gracefully, her movements fluid as she glides toward the folding screen nestled discreetly in the corner of the room.
The fabric rustles softly as she moves behind the screen, and I can't help but imagine her undressing, each garment whispering its secrets as it caresses her skin and then falls to the floor.
The mental image of her, bare and beautiful—her beasts, her hips, her thighs—sends a surge of heat through my veins, and I tense, fighting the primal urge to picture her in such a vulnerable state.
The folding screen trembles ever so slightly, a tantalizing dance that teases the outline of her naked form as she dresses on the other side. I clench my fists, fighting the allure of the forbidden fantasies that threaten to consume me, yearning to drown in the depths of her.
When she steps back out, she’s wearing an old concert T-shirt with a vintage Bob Marley t-shirt, leggings, and high-top sneakers complete her look.
A part of me wants to taste her red lips and wrap her tongue around mine.
The urge comes abruptly and unexpectedly, but I restrain myself. I open and close my hands slowly until I’m calm again.
Almost at the same time, footsteps can be heard on the other side of the door, and Brandon bursts hurriedly into the room.
His frightened, nervous gaze darts between Andrea and me at a rapid pace, as if he feared he had left a little lamb alone with a hungry wolf.
You're not far off the mark, I think.
"Ready to go?" Brandon asks lightly, mockingly.
Andrea nods and grabs a worn jean jacket from a nearby armrest. "It's been a pleasure chatting with you, Mr. McAllister."
"Likewise."
On her way to the door, she stumbles. My instincts are quick and catch her before she falls.
Our hands brush for a fleeting second, but it's enough to make my skin erupt in goosebumps.
Andrea's jaw drops, and she sucks in a sharp breath as if she'd just been slapped. The surprise in her eyes is a delicious treat, and I can't help but smirk.
I lean in closer, relishing her discomfort. "You should be careful, little lamb," I say in a low purr, whispering in her ear.
