AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Use me up?” The wording provokes sharp prickles of distaste that dig at me. “Kissing me. Touching me. It’s all, using me up? Like, if I’ve been with another man, I’m worthless when I get to Italy? Is that all my worth is measured by? My body?”
“No,” he says. “Your heart.”
The wind flies right out of my patriarchy-smashing sails.
Oh my God, Savage, how can you be so utterly sweet?
His words circle me for a moment, landing uncomfortably in my belly. He told me himself how he’s chosen to avoid love, and it’s been no secret he’s a player. A serial single. A love ‘em and leave ‘em type. And he’s right, I can’t be giving my heart to that kind of man. I want commitment, a family one day.
Have I been missing something, or maybe lying to myself? Am I drawn to him for deeper reasons? Could it be that he’s more than just a good-looking, relationship-avoiding bodyguard who’s safe to try things out on?
Have I been the one…using him up?
“A kiss isn’t a heart,” I say.
“But it might start there,” he says. “And trust me. Giving your heart to the wrong person is way worse than losing your virginity to the wrong one.”
I stare at his face. He sounds like someone who’s been hurt. Badly. I want to know more about him and about his past. I need to know, because I’m starting to think...
It’s not me who shouldn’t be kissing him.
He’s the one who shouldn’t be kissing me.
twenty-four
Savage
She’s gone to use the restroom. I take the moment to catch my breath. I came so close to kissing her…I’m standing by the sink, staring at the moonlit meadow outside the window. She comes up behind me, her voice soft, pulling my attention away from the flames. A hand, soft on my shoulder. “Tell me,” she says. “Who hurt you?”
It feels like spider legs are crawling up the back of my neck. Isn’t that a question a man asks a woman? I’m instantly feeling—vulnerable? It’s not a feeling I like having.
Men don’t talk about their feelings. We just bottle them up. Blame our anger on something else. Punch something or have a good fuck and move on. Till those feelings creep back up. Then we wash, rinse, and repeat.
“What do you mean?” I turn to face her.
“I mean, I think I’m okay with what we’ve been doing. I’m fine with the choices I’ve made. You, though, you seem to…” Her words trail off. Crossing her arms over her chest, she walks away, heading toward the living room, leaving me standing there alone in the kitchen.
Her words send me spiraling back to “her.” To the darkest time in my life. Can she see it written on my face? Reflected in my eyes? Does she know about that time, the four gray concrete walls that were my home?
“I seem to what?”
She sinks down into the couch. Curls up in a ball just like Lindy’s cat does. She stares at the fire burning bright and warm in the fireplace. I follow her, sitting down next to her.
Changing the subject. Now. Right now.
“What about you?” I ask. “I know you still talk to Mary.”
Her gaze slowly moves to meet mine. “How?”
“Everyone at the party said you were looking for her cupcakes. She’s been gone for over five years.” Mary died in her sleep, at Paige and Bronson’s house in the Hamlet. Three weeks after her husband John passed from a heart attack.
The official coroner’s report said cardiac arrest. The Beauties are convinced she died of a broken heart. Unable to live without her John. I used to laugh when they said that kind of stuff. Now?
I can understand. A bit. I guess. I look at Paisley. “How are you doing with that?”
“Fine. It was a long time ago. That’s why I love studying psychology. Makes me feel sane.” She looks down at her hands. “My friend. Pippa. I talk to her too.”
“Pippa?” I rack my brain. I’ve never heard of a Pippa Bachman.
