“You don’t look thirty-two,” I observe, growing more curious about his backstory by the second. He glances at me with a smirk. “What?” I finally ask when he stays quiet.
“Youdefinitelylook twenty-two,” he says before bringing his glass to hislips.
The way they part to make room for the rim of the cup is mesmerizing. The tip of his tongue is just barely visible, and my greedy eyes slide down his throat as he swallows, causing my palm to sweat where his palm is pressed against it.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. For so long, sex has been a transaction conducted out of obligation, not an act of love or passion. Derek never gave me time or space to grow true desire before making demands in return for the help I needed, and before him, there was no one. Because of that, my relationship with intimacy is non-existent, and my relationship with sex is full of anger, bitterness, and resentment, making me wonder if I’m even capable of a healthy sex life.
Because of that fear, being turned on atallright nowis somewhat of a relief. However, being turned on by Talon is the world’s cruelest joke because, ofcourse, the first man I meet whose touch brings me comfort instead of fearandwho has an extraordinary emotional I.Q is straight.
But I’m used to pain, physicalandemotional, so I cling to his hand a little tighter, allowing myself to enjoy the moment for once, hoping like hell it’ll be enough since I know it will be over all too soon.
“Take my number,” Talon says, his voice filling the void. “I’ll reach out tomorrow after seeing what’s open, and I’ll send you a text.”
It’s a completely reasonable request, but still, I hesitate.
“Um, maybe it would be better if…” I let the sentence die after pointing it in the right direction.
“If you put your number in my phone instead, so there’s no trace of me in yours?” Talon finishes for me.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod.
“You know that’s a red flag, right?” When I don’t look at him, Talon sets his bourbon down and carefully approaches my face with his now-free hand. When he pauses an inch from myskin, I nod again, unsure what he’s planning to do, but knowing I trust whatever comes next.
He places two fingers under my chin and guides me to look at him so gently, I almost break right there on the floor.
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says. “Isolating you from healthy friendships is a major sign of insecurity. My number should be allowed in your phone without it causing an argument.”
I avert my gaze because having Talon’s perfect features this close to my face is too much to bear. Too close and not close enough all at the same time. When he runs his thumb along my jaw, a shuddering breath leaves my lungs, stripping me raw.
I close my eyes in an attempt to fold into the spots he’s touching, wanting to reduce myself to only those places we’re connected because they’re the first places to have ever come alive.
All too soon, the moment is gone, and he’s passing his phone to me.
“Any chance we could take a selfie?” he asks while I type my number into his phone. “I’ll use it as your contact picture.”
He wants a picture with me?
“Of course,” I say without hesitation, already knowing he doesn’t plan to post it anywhere or somehow use it against me.
He leans in, angling his head so our temples touch as he holds his camera out in front of him, our faces centered on the screen.
I’m blown away by how good we look together. His dark coloring next to my sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes, his hint of scruff to my baby face. Of course, he’s wearing an easy, breathtaking smile, and although I want to give him one, my gaze is far more contemplative as I stare at the screen, wishing this moment could multiply into a million more.
Chapter 9
Talon
Ilie in bed tossing and turning the whole night, wracked with guilt over my lunch invitation. I know I need to come clean about who I am because Zeke has a right to know, but last night, when he looked at me with obvious longing in his eyes, I realized it’s the first time someone has ever done that simply because ofmeand not because of my wallet, my status, or my last name.
It was powerful.
If I’m honest, it sent a jolt of electricity humming through my veins that I still can’t identify.
And it still feels like hell in the aftermath. What’s better? To tell the truth, and once again be surrounded by people who only see me as a dollar sign? Or lie about who I am in an effort to find a genuine connection?
Can a connection evenbegenuine if it’s built on a lie?
Both options feel hopeless and shameful.
