“In an hour. We have time. Just…not right now.”
With a nod, he backs out of the room and shuts the door with enough extra force, it shatters the small bit of peace I found sitting with him, pretending we were twonormalpeople getting to know one another.
This is why I can’t get close to people. Why Marina is my only friend. Because eventually, no matter how hard I try, my secrets always get in the way.
* * *
Griff
Fuck.
Why did I have to push her? Our conversation felt almosteasyin parts, and then she shut down like a switch.
Rubbing the end of my left arm, I head for the bathroom. Marina hasn’t opened her door yet, but she moved all her stuff from this suite into the adjoining room, so I don’t expect her until close to ten—the time she said she needed to start on Sloane’s makeup.
This is the fanciest bathroom I’ve ever seen. Six knobs and three separate shower heads let the hot water hit me from all angles, easing some of the tension in my shoulders. For a brief second, I wonder if Sloane would be open to booking a couples massage at the hotel spa, but then I’d have to take my prosthetic off in front of a stranger. Not to mention, it’d be an hour I wouldn’t be able to defend her properly.
The idea of jumping off a massage table, naked, to fight a killer is enough to make me smile and shudder at the same time.
You’re already at enough of a disadvantage. Stay focused.
Water sluices down my back, and I brace myself with my right arm against the shower wall. Every time I see the end of my residual limb—or say thewordsresidual limb—I wonder how Austin can trust me to protectanyone. What the hell am I going to do if someone comes after us? Sure, the prosthetic is the most advanced on the market. But it still has a fuckton of limitations.
I run my hand over my scarred shoulder. I’m lucky to have full sensation—luckier still that Austin had contacts at Johns Hopkins who rerouted my nerves so I can feel whatever I touch with the prosthesis. But no amount of luck will make me whole again. Or free me from this quiet, lonely prison of near deafness.
“You don’t have to hide, you know.”
God, how I wish that were true.
Dumbass, get over yourself.
Sloane didn’t run away when she saw me without my shirt. Didn’t look disgusted. Or horrified. Maybe she’ll understand. Maybe she’s the only one who can. She has her own past, and it’s not a pretty one.
Fuck it. Thisrelationshipmay be all an act, but I can try to let her in. Maybe it won’t all blow up in right my face.
Chapter Fifteen
Griff
If I stop to think about this, I’ll lose my nerve. As soon as I dry off and pull on a pair of boxer briefs and dark gray slacks, I grab the case for my prosthetic arm and knock on Sloane’s bedroom door.
A full three minutes pass before she answers, and I walked away twice, only to turn around and knock again.
“Griff. What…?”She pulls the plush, hotel bathrobe tightly around her, and a thick white cream covers her face.
“We’re dating. Remember?” I nod toward my left arm. “You need to know how this all works.”
“Let me rinse this mask off. I can’t stand the smell of tea tree oil. Plus, if I leave it on too long, my entire face will be red for the next eighteen hours and Marina will kill both of us.”
That’s it? She doesn’t protest, doesn’t stare at the ugly scars on my upper arm, just disappears into the bathroom while I set the case on her dresser and pop it open.
I can’t read her, and that bothers me more than I want to admit. One minute, she’s running away from me. The next, she’s an open book. Or…at least comfortable withmebeing one.
When she returns, her face clean, skin perfect, hair shining in the sunlight streaming through the french doors, I don’t know what to say. How to begin. Or why I’m here.
Yes, we’re supposed to be dating. But no one’s going to ask her how I put my arm on in the morning.
“Our first date was at a Mets game? Really?” she asks. “I don’t know anything about baseball.”
