She frowns. “I’m not sure I can hold your weight.”
I smile. This is why I love her—why I relish in the fact that I’m going to wake up next to her, my arms wrapped around her delicate body. She’s fucking adorable. “No, like this…”
I slide off Lily and easily readjust. I tug her closer, and my arm holds her small waist against me. We’re spooning, her back to my chest. Now, where is that fucking hand?
I find her right hand curled up underneath her breast, and I take it in mine. Then I intertwine my fingers with hers, securing them with determined force.No more masturbating, Lil.
I’m about to officially instate our new sleeping position, but her ass presses harder into my cock. She’s scooting back, either on purpose or subconsciously, I have no clue. It’s still kind of cute, but it doesn’t help.
I lean back and grab a small pillow, and then I wedge it between my dick and her ass. “Better?”
“Depends who you’re asking—Horny Lily or Good Lily?”
I love them both. I press my lips to her ear. “I love you.”
“…I don’t have much love for myself at the moment,” she mutters in a small voice. I can see her shrinking internally, her self-worth dropping lower and lower from the guilt.
“Hey, I’d be passed out already if I had to sleep in the same bed with a bottle of booze. You’re doing all right. And this is new for both of us, Lil. It’s going to be lots of trial and error. Now we know that we have to sleep likethis. Okay?”
“Are we going to have sex in the morning?”
The question doesn’t annoy me. Still, I’m not used to telling her no. I’m usually the one teasing her until she’s hot and bothered. But I can’t do a goddamn thing. Because that would beenabling.
So I say, “We’ll see.”
She sinks back into me—and that damn pillow—as Iwatch her drift to sleep. When I know she’s safely in slumber’s hold, I allow myself the same luxury.
CHAPTER SIX
LOREN HALE
My heart beats wildly,my muscles burn and my legs pump. I run. Around and around. There is no end.
If I stop soon, I’ll start screaming. The tendons in my calves strain with each foot on the cement track. And I focus on my breathing. In and out. Inhale, exhale. One, two, three…
I’ve always been good at running. Even when I screwed up every fucking thing, I did a decent job at sprinting right away from the cops, from prep school guys wanting to smash my face in, from my father and my problems.
Running has kept me alive.
And if I learned anything from rehab, it’s ways to stay busy. But my warring thoughts only make me want to drink. Even bringing up my father, college, the text messages that threaten Lily—any fucking thing, my chest collapses, and I know just the solution that’ll fix everything. Whiskey, bourbon—an amber glass will melt all the pain away.
Yesterday, I almost walked into a bar.
I lose my steady pace on the track, my breath staggering. One…two…
Each foot feels heavier than before. I want to be light as a freakin’ feather. I want to float right on out of here. But I keepthinkingabout it.
A smoky bar was directly across the busy intersection as I waited for Ryke to pick me up from therapy. Traffic, honking cabs and bike messengers never stopped me before. Why should they then? The Jack Daniel’s poster in the frontwindow called out to me like a siren singing her deathly serenade on the edge of a dock.
And I nearly drowned in that sea of bourbon.
Stupid, little fuck.
I exhale deeply, which only screws with my pace again. Ryke runs by my side, and his eyes flicker briefly to me. He purposefully slows his quick stride. Right now, he could sprint laps around me. But he chooses to be here. I should be glad that he wants to work out with me, but I hate that he won’t run as far as he can. I hate that I’m holding him back.
I want to scream.
So I push harder, and I race ahead of him.
