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“Hudson has been single for some time, too. Maybe you will both find someone soon.”
She isn’t even trying to be subtle, and it kills me. Laurel obviously has feelings for me, and my mother doesn’t need her to get the wrong impression. Although, it’s kind of late for that, considering my mother invited her over for dinner like she’s been my girlfriend for months.
The rest of dinner goes fine.
“Thank you for joining us. It was great to get to know you more,” mmy mom tells her, as we are leaving. “Hopefully, we will have you back over soon.”
We awkwardly look at each other getting into our cars. Hell, if I knew she was coming, then we could’ve carpooled. No, no carpool. Did I like her or despise her? Make up your fucking mind.
This is all so confusing. As I get to know more about her, maybe Laurel isn’t all that bad. Even if there is something there, it’s forbidden. I don’t break my rules.
When I get home, I head directly to the shower. I imagine what she is doing on the other side of the wall. My dirty side gets the best of me. Is she in the shower, letting the lukewarm water penetrate her delicate skin? Then that’s when I hear a faint knock on my door.
I grab a towel, turn off the shower, get hold of my crutch, and head to open it. When the door swings ajar, she freezes for a second before examining every inch of my body. Her index finger traces one of my scars on my peck.
Why is she trying to kill me? Haven’t I been clear about us not becoming a thing? Yet, here she is, touching my naked chest. Does she have to torture me?
The door clicks behind us. When did we move?
“So, what are you doing?” she says, trying to lighten the mood.
“Standing here half-naked, allowing a girl to check me out. Not awkward at all,” I say sarcastically, running my fingers through wet hair.
Her eyes are still bouncing around my chest, and then proceeds to look up at me through her dark lashes.
“I forgot my prosthetic. Let me go put that on. No one besides my family has ever seen me without it.”
“You don’t need to. Be yourself. You don’t have to put it on because of me.”
“What about your girlfriends or people you have slept with?” Her index finger traces another scar. “What happened?”
My eyes flutter and my jaw clenches. “Let’s not talk about that. Something else?”
“You run your own company, employ fellow soldiers. Not saying you are perfect, but you are a good person.”
I just stare at her. She knows nothing about me. How could she know if I’m a good person or not? Hell, I could be a serial killer for all she knows. Yet, she continues to come to my apartment without an invitation.
“I can’t control how you feel about yourself, but that’s what I think.”
“How do you feel?” I ask, looking sharply into her eyes.
Her head shakes. “It doesn’t matter. You have made that clear already.”
I’m standing here in just a towel, and I want to kiss her badly, but then she turns to leave. I restrain her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “Tell me; I want to know, Laurel. Please?” My calloused hands caress her cheek.
“I think you are the hottest, brooding, depressed man I have ever met. Once you let someone in, she will be a lucky woman.”
She hits me with a quick kiss and heads for the door again.
Why did I open my damn door in the first place? I don’t ever let anyone see me without my prosthetic or shirtless. Her eyes bounced over my scars just left out in the open for her to see. What the hell are you thinking? Even when I have a woman underneath me, the lights are off, and they wouldn’t see them. It makes it much easier to hide.
What is it about Laurel that nudges me out of my comfort zone? Ever since that first night, I want to tell her to go away, leave me alone, but I can’t. Why?
I’m not in a position to open up to anyone, let alone a potential romantic partner. Women can be petty and judgmental. But Laurel didn’t look at me with pity without my prosthetic.
I’ve become a pro at building walls and keeping them up to keep everyone out. Laurel, somehow, is starting to bring a couple of those walls down.
I want to have someone, but I fear rejection. Who doesn’t? I never want Laurel to look at me like a broken piece of a puzzle.
