“Yes!” I yell out.
He grins at me, amber eyes dancing. “Again.”
“You enjoying yourself, Decker?”
“I will always enjoy being on top of you.”
Before he’s finished speaking, he’s on the attack again, taking advantage of the moment I need to prepare. He doesn’t hold back as he pins me to the floor, wrestling me until I kick him off. We do it over and over again. Sweat building on my skin, breath ragged, pulse thrumming. Slowly, I’m losing steam, my strength burning up.
“Okay, okay.” I throw my hand up in defeat. “I think I’m done kicking your ass now.”
I press my head back into the mat and release a long breath. Decker chuckles and plops down beside me, that easy smile still in place. We’re quiet as our hearts settle and our breathing evens out.
“So?” he says finally. “You gonna tell me about it?”
“Tell you… about what?”
He gives me one of those long, intense stares. Like he’s reading a book, turning my pages, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to unfold every part of my story.
“The man you killed,” he says finally.
Every muscle in my body locks up. That sickness in my stomach comes back in full force, along with a tightness in mychest that crushes down on my already shallow breath. I open my mouth, but words escape me. Escape. That’s what I need. A way out. Cut and run.
I shoot upright. “I have to go.”
Between one heartbeat and the next, Decker’s hand is at my chest, pushing me back down. I hit the mat with a hard thud.
“No you don’t,” he says.
I slap his hand away with a growl.
He holds tight, not letting me flee like my every instinct is telling me to. Then he’s got me pinned down again. Wrists over my head, legs locked with his. This time, when I try to fight him off, he fights harder, and I’m too exhausted to kick him away.
“It was just a question,” he says, voice low and raspy. “I’m gonna free your wrists. Don’t hit me, all right?” When I stay silent, he sighs. “Tell me you won’t hit me.”
“Fine,” I bite.
Carefully, he eases the tension locking my hands in place. He keeps his focus fixed on my face as he hovers over me. Watching me. That perfect, handsome face pulled into a deep frown. He draws a finger down my cheek to my jaw and then down my throat, resting at the crook of my collarbones.
I swallow. “Why do you care? Why do you… why does any of this matter to you?”
His features soften as his attention drops to my lips. For a second I think he might kiss me, and I wish he would. Kissing means no talking. Kissing means an end to this conversation.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But for some reason, it’s all that matters. It’s like… like sometimes when I touch you, I breathe a little better. Fuck. Sometimes I just need to look at you, and I breathe better. And maybe I need to protect that feeling. You know what I mean by that?”
Some sort of heavy emotion claws its way up my throat. With a thick swallow past it, I nod. As much as I want to cut thesefeelings out of my chest, to run from the need to pull this man closer, to lean into this, it’s starting to feel impossible. It’s like Linc has dug himself deep into my marrow, and I can’t figure out how to scrape him off.
“Tell me, Gracie. Tell me how Jimmy Donovan’s daughter wound up in this kind of trouble.”
I take a breath. A deep one. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale, exhale.
“I… it’s complicated. It’s… it wasn’t on purpose. Not really.” I press my lips together, consider where to start. “I left home—Jimmy’s place—when I was twenty-one. That town was suffocating me. So I took off. After that, it was a blur of travelling and couch surfing and partying. It was fun, honestly. Jimmy gave me that bike. And as long as I visited him and Mom every few months, he let me keep it.”
Decker’s wandering hand steadies at my throat. Then he clamps down. It’s a light sort of touch. Gentle. Tender. It’s safety.
“Not belonging anywhere? Not having anyone to answer to? It felt good. For a while, at least. But then… I don’t know. After a few years of not having a home, it started to get a little…”
“Lonely?”
