“You … want one of these?”
It’s a relief that he gets it easily.
“I think Hartwell’s should fit you.”
I nod again, faster, and understanding dawns across his face.
“You’re going to help me.”
I pin him with a look that I hope conveys mywhat the fuck else would I do with the suit, and it must come close because he laughs and raises his gloved hands.
“Okay, okay, put the sass away. I’ll go grab it.”
The few minutes he’s gone force me to face my decision and come to the conclusion that yes, I am offering to help with the worst job in existence because he has me completely under his thumb.
Without even trying.
I’m a real goddamn sucker.
He gets back faster than I’m expecting and hands over the white coveralls for me to step into. I pull my arms into the sleeves, but before I can reach for the zipper, Kennedy is there.
He’s standing close, radiating sunshine, and pulls the zipper from my waist all the way up to my throat. His hand lingers there.
“This is going to be horrible,” he promises. “Just warning you now.”
Even if I wanted to talk, there’s no way I’d be able to. I’m struggling to breathe with how close he is.
I’m slightly taller than he is, but because of his size, he feels bigger than this goddamn room. Especially when he has no issues holding my eye contact, and as much as I wish I could find some sort of interest there, all I’m picking up is friendly vibes.
I’ve never had much practice with reading people, but Kennedy isn’t a hard guy to read. Unlike everyone here who keeps their secrets under lock and key, I don’t believe he’s ever had a secret in his life.
I can’t imagine what it’s like to live that way.
He lifts a pair of gloves and some goggles.
“They should fit,” he says, proving that the tension I’m feeling is only on my end. “You’re smaller than Hart, but your fingers are longer.”
I frown and direct my gaze to my hands. I’ve never given much thought to anything about me, but as I inspect my hand, Kennedy lifts his beside mine. His is broader, and his fingers are thick and rough.
“See?” He takes my wrist with his other hand and presses our palms together. The heat from his hand warms me all the way to my shoulder. The simple touch, his gentle expression, there’s something about this moment that reaches into the dusty, forgotten parts of me and tries to tempt them back to life. “Your hands are as delicate as the rest of you.”
Delicate?
I’m a shadow, a void, a figment of people’s imaginations. People don’t think about me, and they definitely do not think about words like delicate when it comes to me.
Useless.
Pussy.
Waste of space.
I pull out of his hold and force a smile before I pull on the gloves. Then I point to the insulation, and like that, the moment is gone.
Destined to live in my memories forever.
CHAPTER
TWO
