I kiss her then, tipping her head back, lazily tongue fucking her again. When I pull away, she stares at me, her green eyes glazed. She shivers and I curse.
“Fuck. It’s cold out. Let’s go get you warm.”
After tucking her in the passenger seat, I drive home with her hand in mine, thumb stroking over her knuckles. Holdingher hand shouldn't feel this monumental. It's just fingers laced together, palm pressed to palm, simple contact that people do without thinking. But I can't remember the last time I held someone's hand like this.
Her hand's small and warm in mine, fitting perfectly like it was made to be there. Every point where our skin connects sends heat up my arm, anchoring me in a way I didn't know I needed. This is more intimate than what we just did against that wall.
More vulnerable. More real. Because this is the part that means something beyond physical need. This is me choosing to keep touching her even when the desperate urgency has passed. Choosing connection over the isolation I've wrapped myself in for years.
It feels unbelievably good.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Scout
It actually happened. After Silas fucked my brains out in a parking lot, I climbed into his bed and fell asleep in his arms. And then when I woke?
He was still there, though half-awake. A thousand questions flared to life. What did last night mean? Are we a thing? Should we be exclusive?
Silas didn't say a single word, which is rather infuriatinglyhim. None of my questions are answered. But he leans over and kisses me, ignoring my morning breath to light up all my neurons. It’s so good that I swear, I can still feel it when I press my fingertips to my lips.
After a long shower and dragging myself through the processes of getting dressed and making breakfast, I find Si gone. Pushing out a disappointed breath, I sigh. That was bound to happen, I guess.
My phone buzzes while I'm neck-deep in spreadsheets, tracking recovery metrics that all blur together after the third hour. A text from Silas lights up my screen.
Silas
Street hockey tonight. You're coming.
Not a question. A statement. My stomach does a little flip.
Me
Where?
Silas
West Seattle lot. 6pm. Bring water.
Me
Is this a date?
Silas
It's family.
The word family sits heavy in my chest. I stare at it for a long moment, trying to process what that means. He wants me there for something he does with his brothers, I guess? Choosing to see that as him bringing me into his inner circle could happen.
Scout
Okay. I'll be there.
Trying to focus on my spreadsheets after that proves difficult. Data flows in endless streams in front of me, but I can’t focus. On the best day, I struggle with data analysis. Now my mind keeps drifting back to that one word.
Family.
By six, I'm standing in a cracked asphalt lot in West Seattle that looks like it's seen significantly better days. Battered hockey nets sit at either end, held togetherwith duct tape and determination. The surface is more pothole than pavement but being the first one to gripe about it won't happen.
