“I shouldn’t have,” he says, his words muffled from the rag.
“Then why are you still standing in front of me?”
A long moment passes. “Because you’re the only person I can trust not to run their mouth.”
My stomach flips. “How can you be sure?”
“I’m not. Not entirely anyway, but I see you, Violet. There’s a pain in those eyes, one I don’t think you’ve shared with your friends.” Another beat passes. “If you can keep quiet about your own shit, I’m hopeful you’ll keep quiet about mine.”
How?
It’s on the tip of my tongue.
How do you know there’s something bothering me and how do you know I haven’t told a soul?
“Whatever this is,” I say, “it’s safe with me. I just need to know one thing…whoever did this to you, did they follow you back to the complex? Do I have to worry about opening my apartment door and finding them on the other side of it?”
He moves his hand to my waist, squeezing it like he did my hand. My stomach swoops high then dips low. His hand lingers, andGod, is it bad that I wish he’d tug me into his chest even with my question hanging in the air like it is?
I think we both could use a hug or two.
Maybe more.
His hand falls from me like a leaf drifting away from a tree in autumn. It finds its place back on the counter.
“No one followed me.”
I lower my eyes back to his mouth. “Do you think you’ll need stitches?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I could have a few bruised ribs.”
I look down at his gray shirt. “How do you know that?”
“I don’t know for sure. My side is sore as hell. I wouldn’t be surprised if I did, considering that’s where most of my pain is coming from.”
I set the rag on the counter behind him and move my fingers to the hem of his shirt. Eyes locked on his, I ask. “Is it okay if I look?”
“Have at it.”
I’m gentle as I roll his polo up, bunching it beneath my fingers. I’m careful not to touch his skin in the event he is bruised. I don’t want to cause any more pain than he’s already in. Time drags on. What are seconds in actuality, feel like the longest minutes I’ve ever experienced. The dips and ridges of his abs don’t help. It only intensifies the duration of each second. Makes me wish I could drop to my knees and lick upward.
Get it together, Violet.
My God, I’m not normally like this. I keep my composure when it comes to guys. I don’t obsess or throw myself at them. Even Webber was a gradual thing. We were friends before we risked being intimate.
I’m chalking it up to my shower orgasm not being strong enough.
Maybe next time I should use the shower head.
His shirt lifts an inch higher, and I gasp. His beautiful skin is marred with shades of blue and purple, disturbing and discolored shadows spreading over his ribcage.
“Is it bad?”
I glance up. His head is back, his stare locked on the ceiling. “Colson, what happened to you? Who did this?”
