He says it for me. “Stay?”
I nod.
He pulls back the covers he’s on top of and slides in next to me. He’s fully dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt. When I lay back down, facing away from him, he wraps his arm around me, pulling me back to him. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. Nothing has ever felt more okay.
Minutes pass before I whisper, “It wasn’t just a dream. My parents aren’t . . . good. Before I went to live with Gran, things were bad.” Laying here in the dark, wrapped in his arms, it feels safe to whisper the truth. Or a small piece of it, anyway.
He doesn’t say anything, but he tucks his head down into the hair falling around my neck. Breathing me in like I did him.
“My parents aren’t known for anything good. They . . . We have a horrible reputation in this town. You should stay away from us.” Trey is kind, steady, with a good life and a successful career. Nothing about my messy life and trash family aligns with his. The best thing he could do is move out and stay away from me.
He pulls his head back slightly. “You aren’t your parents. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t—”
“Shh,” he shushes me. The man actually shushes me. “We aren’t arguing about this tonight. Go to sleep.” He kisses the back of my head, sending a shiver down my spine.
I relent, because deep down, I want him here. So, with his warmth and comfort wrapped around me, I drift off. And sleep better than I have in years.
Chapter 13
Trey
Ilaugh, holding a French fry covered in ice cream across the table at Jessie. “Just try it.”
Her lips are clamped shut as she shakes her head.
I huff in defeat, popping it into my own mouth. “You’re missin’ out, Hawkins.”
“I highly doubt that.” She sticks her freckled nose up.
Fuck, she’s cute. Sometimes it hits me all over again how beautiful andfunshe is.
I love spending time with Jessie, but the Jessie I met as Kacey’s best friend isn’t the Jessie I’ve gotten to know since I moved in. She’s exhausted, stressed, and on edge. Not the life of the party, quick-witted one who is always ribbing Carson or Chet. So, which is the real Jessie? Or is it both, and she only lets the world see one version?
We’ve grown closer since Gran fell and even more since the night I woke up to her screams down the hall. The fear I felt radiating off her the day her father showed up haunts me.
She scared the shit out of me that night. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just held her. And when she whispered to me about her family, my heart broke for her. I want to figure out a way to help her.
Jessie is dead fucking wrong—there is no reason I should stay away from her. It’s like she’s been wired into my bloodstream, and I’ll do anything to be closer to her.
A man walks past and does a double take, checking Jessie out. He’s the second man to eye-fuck her in twenty minutes, and it’s pissing me off—not that I can blame them. An irrational, jealous side of me wants to move over to her side of the booth and stake a claim. A claim I have zero right to, and I’m pretty sure she’d shove me right onto my ass for attempting it.
I’m considering whether to move by her or drag her out of here to have her all to myself when I notice she’s distracted, paying no attention to the men looking at her—myself included. She’s happily munching away at her club sandwich, doing her little bopping shoulder dance. When she’s super hungry, she does this cute happy dance when she finally gets food.
I’ve also noticed she loves to go out to eat but doesn’t unless it’s my idea. I don’t think she can afford it, so I always make it my idea and force her to let me pay. She argues every time, but I win every time. I’ve discovered the stack of overdue bills she keeps tucked in a kitchen drawer. And I see how depleted she is after working too many shifts in a row, yet she keeps doing it.
I’ve noticed more than that.
She likes a clean house, fresh produce, and dogs. If we watch TV, it can’t be reality TV—she prefers fantasy or tragic love stories. Her favorite color is purple, she loves Sabrina Carpenter, and Dot’s Pretzels. But above all, shelovesbooks. She reads all the time. I can listen to her tell me—in great detail—about a book’s plot and characters for hours. I love watching how excited she gets telling me about each book. She told me about herfavorite author, and I’ve secretly started reading her books so I can see a glimpse into the world she loves so much.
There are a lot of women in my past, but none like her. She consumes my thoughts. I want to spend every moment with her. I still want to sleep with her, but we’re genuinely friends now. I’m enjoying it immensely and think that’s only made it worse.
Since she’s relaxed around me, we fight, flirt, and touch. She isn’t afraid to touch me or let me touch her. All casual—a brush of my forearm, my hand on her lower back—but it sends my blood rushing every time her skin grazes mine.
Jessie gets up to use the restroom, and once she disappears down the hallway, I sneak to the cash register to pay for our meal. She can’t argue about paying if it’s already done. I also order Gran a burger, fries, and a strawberry shake to-go. We’ve been taking her meals or take-out so she doesn’t have to cook as often.
