There’s no way to let the truth out. It’ll just wind up hurting. Me, him.
On the surface, he’s got a face that says almost nothing, and a body that says a whole lot. The ink alone is a chronicle—a lifetime’s worth of stories. Most of them probably pretty grim.
None of it feels like the truth.
There’s stuff in his eyes that doesn’t fit the rebel without a cause skin he’s holding up for display. There’s a challenge in his gaze, right on the surface. A glimmer that calls out,Go ahead, scratch a little deeper, try to find something worth saving. Worth caring about. Behind all that, there’s a hint of vulnerability I wouldn’t have guessed at upon first meeting him. I also suspect it’s not something he’s aware of himself.
There’s pain there and experience and a shit-ton of the bits of his history that have made him who he is, and there’s something else. That vulnerable thing, that unguarded little question? It calls to some naive little piece of my soul that should have been snuffed out ages ago.
“Rings are overrated,” I whisper.
“But you still want a kid.”
“I want a family,” I insist. “I want to take care of someone. To be a part of something.”
He nods, slowly, his eyes scanning my face like he’s taking in all the bits and pieces of me and trying to get them to make sense.
“Your house is like that. It’s a family place.”
“Yeah, I…I hope so.”
“Needs a new roof.” He grins. “And a dog.”
I snort. “Seriously? When would I have time to take care of a dog?”
His brows lift. “Uh. You know a kid is a lot more work than a dog, right?”
“Of course I know that,” I say, far more irritated at his question than I should be.
“I didn’t mean?—”
“I’m fully aware of what I’m getting myself into.” I pause, full, so full of emotion that I can feel it threatening to leak out already. “I should go.” I stand awkwardly. The last thing I need is to break down in front of him again, like I did at my place. God, what is wrong with me? Back and forth and up and down. I’m a mess.
“Katarina.” He tilts his head back to look up at me and he’s so earnest, so beautiful, it pulls at something deep in my heart. “I know I’m not relationship material, okay? I get that.” I open my mouth, but he cuts through my protestations. “You don’t have to tell me that I’m not dad material either. You and I both know that’s not what this is about. Hasn’t been from the start.”
He stands until he’s towering over me in the hall.
“But you are so fucking hot to me and what we’ve been doing… Shit, I’ve never been this turned on.” He swallows, hard. We’re still talking about sex, right? “Don’t try to deny you’re hot as hell for me, for this. Don’t lie to me.”
“I won’t,” I say, sounding young and belligerent, as if I’m not several years older than the guy. “I’m not.”
“You want me.”
Ugh, what an asshole, forcing me to say it. Never mind that it’s the truth.
I just barely hold back from rolling my eyes like some annoyed teenager. “You know I do, Jake, but?—”
“But what? But you don’t like to feel good? You don’t like coming so hard you can’t talk after? Come on. Just… For once in your life, why don’t you let someone else deal with things, huh? Just spend the night, spread your legs, lie back and enjoy it? How about that? How about for these next couple of weeks, you let me do the work?”
“I…I…” I’m blank. Completely devoid of words. What the hell am I supposed to say to this guy? Finally, a quiet, “Okay,” just slips from my lips. Easy as that.
In the next moment, it’s like a weight has come off me. I’m light, floating. Everything seems so unbelievably simple that I can’t believe it ever struck me as being complex.
“Good. Now hold on.” He bends and grabs me and I squeal, half fighting him as he throws me over his back and stalks down the hall to his room, slapping my ass with a resounding smack that I feel way, deep down in my core. “’Cause we’ve got a whole lot of fuckin’ to do in not nearly enough time.”
Jake
There is a whole lot to be said for sleepovers.
