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I purse my lips and widen my eyes. Does he think I’d really call him Daddy in bed? I’m seconds from giggling when he sighs.
“How about I just call you mine, Scar? Because that’s all I ever want you to be.”
Closing my eyes at how tender he sounds, I realize I really need to get out of here. These are his private thoughts, and I struggle to understand how I feel about them. Mine? He wants me to be his? But what about Rowan? I’ve seen them together and although he says they’re just friends, I wouldn’t be surprised if they fell for each other. The idea crushes a part of me better left undiscovered.
As much as my body wants to continue, my mind overrides as I slowly slide my leg out from under his, centimeter by centimeter. Just then, the book I had been reading falls to the floor with a loud thud. Squeezing my eyes tight, I wait for him to wake up, but by some miracle he moves his hand away and shifts to his back, giving me the perfect opportunity to slip out of his warm grasp.
Lungs heaving and legs quaking, I pick up the book and lay it on his nightstand. That was so close. I suck in air and will my heart to slow down its gallop. He was just talking in his sleep. It means nothing—I tell myself. Nothing at all and he won’t even remember it when he wakes up.
I lean over and straighten out his blankets, settling them around him and rake my gaze over his peaceful face. Swiping back his hair, I can’t resist pressing a kiss to his cheek, his stubble rough on my lips. Tears gather behind my eyes, the sting acute in the hollow of my throat. I’m torn between what feels right and whatisright. He’s supposed to be my friend, not creeping into my everyday thoughts as if he belongs there.
Outside on the porch, the moon scales high in the sky as each constellation winks at me from above. I inhale deep the faint scent of pine needles and blooming honeysuckle before blowing it out. There’s the distinct possibility he’s projecting some unmet need and conjuring up my face because I was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep. I beg my heart to believe that because the alternative—a world where he has feelings for me—is too scary and too big to comprehend.
* * *
Each quiet mileback to my house stretches and tugs at my conscience. Forgetting what just happened near impossible when I remember his hands on my body, coaxing awake senses I thought long dead. Even blaring the radio at max volume doesn’t drown out the words he whispered in my ear.
“Mine.”
Shivers torment my skin before relief drenches me as I pull up to my house—my safe space.
Until I step out and watch the slow rise of cigarette smoke, a stark contrast against the black night, the glow from the tip burning brighter as she inhales.
“Rita, why are you still up?” I ask as I haul my fatigued frame down the sidewalk toward her.
She blows out a puff of acrid poison, away from my face, as I take a seat next to her on her creaky porch steps.
“Sleep is for the weak,” she hacks, her voice thick with years of smoking.
I narrow my eyes at her, the light near her front door highlighting the deep wrinkles on her face as she shoves her black-rimmed frames up her tiny nose. Her short stature and blunt haircut make her look like Edna from The Incredibles. “Were you worried about me?”
Her shoulders hunch forward and the long drag off her cigarette her only response.
“I was at Greyson’s. Uh, we were watching a movie.” The lie slips so easily from my lips, but Rita’s a hound and she sniffs out the tall tale before I even punctuate the sentence.
“Why don’t you start with the truth? My legs are aching something fierce from sitting out here.” Her knee pops to prove her point.
“How do you know I didn’t already have plans?”
She stubs out her cigarette in her ashtray and leans back on her wrinkly hands, crossing her feet at the ankles. “I’ve watched you for years, my dear. You don’t make plans because you don’t want to be disappointed. No expectations, no disappointment.”
My lips quirk to the side. “I’m not in the mood for riddles. I actuallywasat Greyson’s.”
Rita waves a wrinkly hand around my head. “Then why is your shirt all wrinkly and your hair a mess like you rolled around in a nest of spiders? I thought maybe you finally shagged that Kellen fellow, but from the looks of ya, it was that handsome best friend instead?” She smirks, the groove deep in her cheek.
Saliva catches in my throat and I choke as my fingers naturally touch my head, feeling the hair knotted on one side. I should’ve never told her about my date, but honestly, she’s sometimes the only female I have to talk to. Being friends with guys came easier, limited drama and I had enough of that dealing with my mom and her unrealistic demands on my life. Layla would tell me to quit playing with the horses and ride the cowboy. Savy’s great, but I can’t exactly call her up at two a.m. and inform her of this… situation. At least Rita collects my secrets and keeps them to herself.
“Shagged? No, but the truth? I fell asleep reading to Greyson because he’s sick and then I woke up tangled in his arms. He was comatose, thank God, so it was only me who knows. Well, now you. And he whispered things to me I can’t forget.”
Rita stares at me, her mouth open and for once she’s speechless.
“Yup. Riddle me that, because I’m just as confused.” I pinch my eyes closed, but what good that does me when his face floats up and taunts me with his sexy smirk.
“Plot twist,” she finally replies, shifting, bringing forth the residual scent of smoke and cloying jasmine.
A laugh huffs from my chest. If she only knew. “Twisted is accurate. What am I going to do? This is nuts. He’s my best friend and I’ve been seeing someone else.”
“One date with the contractor hardly justifies anything official. You’ve gotten yourself into quite the pickle.” She bites her faded crimson-stained lips to hide the smirk she’s hoarding.
