It doesn’t take a genius to figure out how Trinity and Tiffany know Flip and Tristan.
Normally, bunnies don’t approach the guys when we’re at the Watering Hole. It’s supposed to be a safe space. Suddenly I feel out of my depth. While I knew eventually it would happen, I didn’t expect it tonight.
“I’m taking Bea home,” Tristan announces as he pushes his chair back.
Rix lets him help her into her jacket. Tristan seems more upset than she does.
She rounds the table to hug me. “They’re no one and you’re everything, just remember that.”
“Thanks.”
“We all have your back.”
My stomach is a mess as she moves to hug Flip and murmurs something to him.
A moment later he’s at my side, arm stretched protectivelyacross the back of my chair, finger tucked under my chin. “Are you okay?”
I bite my lip and nod, not trusting my voice, and not entirely sure I’m being honest. But everyone is watching again, and not for any good reason.
His eyes search mine. “Why don’t we head out, kitten?”
“Okay.” Between our friends, my dad, and those women, I’m at capacity for anxiety-invoking situations.
“I’m taking Talls home,” he announces as he helps me down from my stool and into my coat.
I relish each brush of his fingers and the gentle contact.
I hug the girls, who all whisper words of reassurance.
Flip laces our fingers. It’s such a simple thing, but it sets me at ease as he guides me to the door.
Once we’re alone and the engine is running, he turns to me. “Can I touch you?”
I nod.
“I need you to say it out loud. I need your verbal permission, Tally.” He’s serious, and on edge.
“I would like you to touch me,” I whisper.
We exhale matching relieved breaths as he slides his shaking hand under my hair and curves his wide palm around the back of my neck. “Do you understand why I need permission?”
I shrug. I could guess, but I’d rather hear it from him.
His thumb sweeps back and forth along my pulse point. “I can’t make assumptions about how you’re feeling after something like that happens. I don’t want my touch to be associated with negative situations like those for either of us.”
My heart aches at the pained look on his face. “Your touch right now is comforting,” I assure him.
“For me, too.” He leans in and presses his forehead briefly to mine. “I’m sorry about those women.”
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper.
He pulls back, eyes dark. “Actually, it’s totally my fault.”
“I know you have a past.” It’s true. I even witnessed some of it when I was an intern with the Terror, but we’re far removed from that, now. This was an unlucky coincidence.
“The Watering Hole should’ve been a safe place for us.”
“You can’t control what other people do and say.” I cover his hand with mine, feeling like he needs my touch the same way I need his.
