“Guilty. But I said what I said to keep the girls from picking on you. They’re jealous and are taking it out on you. Saying stupid, untrue shit behind your back. Wishing they were in your place.” He removes my palms from his face. “Straddle me.”
I run my gaze down his body, from his damp hair to his curly chest hair to the dark strip of hair disappearing below his swim trunks. I shake my head. “You’re half-naked, and a bikini is like being in my bra and underwear.”
“Just do it, Sorrow, or don’t.” He looks away from me, but not before I see the conflicting emotions on his face.
He feels the same as I do. I want to straddle his thighs and feel his erection, thick and long, pulsing against my core, but I’m also scared of losing control with how close we’d be with hardly any layers between us. But it’s about more than our desires. Trace wants to comfort me.
I unseat myself from his lap and straddle his thighs. We’re seeking comfort more than desire, and I trust Trace not to let things get out of hand between us. Sliding his hand under my hair, his face softening, he brings me to him at the same time he leans forward. Trace kisses my forehead before he sets his forehead on mine.
“I also said what I said to stop the guys from thinking you’re easy and that you were putting out for me every night, several times a night, just because we’re in the same house, my parents are gone more than they’re home, and I have a reputation. I won’t let my rep tarnish your innocence, Sorrow. Not if I can fucking do something about it.”
“I’m grateful for the explanation, but I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.” I cradle his face.
He turns into my touch. “What you went through?—”
“Is the reason I need to fight my own battles.”
“What if I change my mind? What if I don’t want you to fight them alone?” He covers my hand with his.
His hand is so big that it completely covers mine.
“Then you’ll be doing me a disservice. Fighting my own battles is the only way I’ll survive out there. You won’t always be with me, Trace.”
My voice falls to a whisper. A deep sadness threatens to strip away my newfound confidence. Maybe I’m not strong enough, and I need someone like Trace with me. Then I remember seeing my mother on her bed, curled up in a fetal position with her hair matted to her face. It was a hot summer day, the AC wasn’t working, and my mother refused to remove the extra covers. She’d sweated, hadn’t showered, and hadn’t eaten in I don’t know how many days.
When I finally pulled the covers back to help her to the bedside commode, I was struck by how much weight she had lost in just a few days. She was skin and bones, and her eyes were sunken. I don’t want to be like her. I don’t want to give up simply because the world is harsh and cruel.
I need to deal with and put a stop to the jealous bitches spreading lies about me.
It’s not Trace’s fault that they’re jealous. Those girls are creating a story in their minds and believing it. Instead of going to Trace, they should speak their words directly to my face. I’ll put them in their place.
“Sorrow? Baby?”
“Hmm?” I’m hearing Trace from a distance.
“You can let go of the death grip on my hair.”
Huh? I blink. The image of seeing my mom alive before I found her dead fades into the murkiness of my memories. I blink again, and I’m back in the present. My hands are bunched in Trace’s messy strands.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry, Trace.” I let go.
Trace wraps me in his arms and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m sorry, too, Sorrow. You’re right about everything. I was a jerk. I shouldn’t have talked smack about my parents. Next time, I’ll answer honestly and leave my parents out of it. If I could have a do-over, I would make sure you felt comfortable and unafraid.” He grasps my chin and brings my face closer to his. “You’re right. I was butthurt that you had a good time with Rush and his parents. They’re nice people. They show up for the football games when a rugby game isn’t on the same day and sit with my parents. They’re closer to my parents’ age than the other parents are.”
“I noticed. How old are your parents?”
“My mom is thirty-seven and my dad, thirty-eight.”
“Your mom had you when she was super young.”
“Eighteen when she got pregnant. Nineteen when she had me.”
“Were your parents high school sweethearts?”
“Yeah. They married because of me. I was an accident. Otherwise, they’d probably have gone their separate ways and would be with other people instead.”
I love that he trusts me enough to let his guard down. I hook my arms around his neck and scoot closer until my body is flush against his. “You can’t possibly know that. There’s not a magic crystal ball that shows us the future.”
Then he drops a proverbial bomb on me, one I didn’t think he’d trust me with.
