“Yep.”
I nuzzle my face to his neck and rub my nose back and forth against his heated flesh.
“Careful. You’re gonna give me a stiffy.”
I laugh. “You’re funny.”
“And you’re turning me the fuck on.”
I bring up a dangerous topic I’ve been thinking about relentlessly while making cookies. “Did Phoebe turn you on when you were talking to her?”
“How—”
“Rush. He said that was the reason you didn’t come back with my coffee.”
“I’m sorry, Sorrow.” He kisses the top of my head, and I fortify the shield over my heart. He’s showing affection because it feels right to do in the moment. Other than our proximity, Trace would’ve kept his distance from me.
Had his father not fired my father as his business partner, Dad wouldn’t have let his drinking get out of control. Had the firing not happened, Dad would have still homeschooled me and then permitted me to leave the house. Except he didn’t remove the lock when I turned eighteen. Why didn’t he? Why do I keep torturing myself over why my parents, then my father when Mom died, kept me away from the world?
After Leigh broke into the house, I could’ve left at any time. She was in. I had a way out. But I stayed because I worried about Dad and the threats he held over my head, that as soon as I left the house, bad people would kidnap me and keep me until Dad paid his debts to them.
Father was already unhappy with his lot in life, and I wouldn’t make it worse for him if I had the control to do something about it. So, I stayed until he thought it would be safe for me to leave. Then the fire happened, I was thrust into a world I knew little about, and I’m safe. Nobody came for me.
It’s depressing to realize his words were all lies, and resentment toward him threatens to consume me, but I won’t let it. I won’t dwell on my past; it has too much power to hurt me and bring back my insecurities. Am I good enough? Am I pretty enough? Am I smart enough? Would people like me more if they didn’t know about my terrible past?
“Did you like talking with her? Does she want to, um, you know, hook up soon? Once the hero and heroine in my books have sex, that’s all they do,” I admit, taking the risk of being vulnerable.
Trace Saints isn’t my guy. I shouldn’t care that he talked to one of his hookups. But the ache in my chest hasn’t gone away, even when my heart races with his nearness and butterflies flutter in my belly. How can I hurt, be jealous, care, and be turned on? I hate all these feelings. I should go back to being numb, scared, or nervous, but going backward seems like a waste of time.
“It wasn’t about that. Anyway, I told her we’re not doing that again.”
“Hooking up?” I need him to be clear with me.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He pulls me on top of him. In the darkness, his bluish-green eyes seem to glow. “I like how I feel when I’m with you.”
“How? When?”
“Why do you need to know?” He slides his hand under my hair. His fingers grip the back of my neck. His body is solid beneath mine. The temperature in my bedroom is just right. Not too cold. Not too warm. My heartbeat speeds up. My pulse jumps under my jaw. I’m lightheaded when he puts pressure on my neck with his fingers digging into my hyperaware flesh.
“Trace.” I melt into his body. His erection nestles between my hot spot. “You have a stiffy,” I accuse with laughter ready to burst from me. I’m happy he’s turned on.
“Pointing out the obvious.” He lifts his head. “Tell?” he murmurs on my mouth. “Remember, we aren’t supposed to catch feelings. It’s only been three nights. You catching feelings for me, Sorrow? Is it why you care so much how I feel when I’m with you and when it started?”
“I’m curious, that’s all.” I fold my arms on his chest and rest my chin on my arms. “Thank you for treating my friend Ember with kindness. Rush was a jerk to her.”
“Something happened between them when she was sixteen.”
“Her scar?—”
“Not from him.”
I release a breath. “For a second, I thought I was wrong about him. He can be rough around the edges, but I didn’t think he could hurt someone. I don’t think she’s okay, Trace. And here I was, planning on setting her up with him.”
He tucks pieces of hair behind my ears. “It’s best to leave that one alone.”
