We lurch and I almost fly off the back.
“Go the damn speed limit!” Seba yells, but his voice is instantly swallowed as we rocket down the street.
Fifty-Five
ANDREA
How do I know I haven’t already died?
Those words,written in smeared blue ink, are tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. My skin feels scraped raw— hypersensitive and too tight. Reading Cade’s inner thoughts put my heart through a blender and shoved guilt down my esophagus.
I’m sick over it. Sick to my fucking stomach that I didn’t try harder to get in touch with him. Disgusted by my ignorance. My selfishness. I thought I buried the girl who couldn’t see past herself, but once again, she evaded death.
I fell for denial’s illusions.
Not anymore.
Cade has my undivided attention.
Downshifting, I coast into the parking lot of the Poached Egg, struggling to rein in the flood of emotion drowning me beneath the surface. As if he senses it, Cade’s arms tighten around me.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment with his chest pressed to my back, the steady beat of his heart reaching through his skin to sync with mine.
My hand covers his.
Fingers lace.
A silent conversation.
I’m here. I’m sorry it took so long. You feel like a missing puzzle piece slotted into place. Like home.
I take a deep breath and extract myself from his comforting embrace to remove my helmet. The ceaseless burning in my core spikes. It’s always worse after a night of drinking. The notification for the lab results came in this morning, but I haven’t opened them.
I’m scared to.
Simple as that.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
Burning, burning, burning.
I spin around, trying to ignore the pain blasting at full volume. Blue and honey eyes watch me closely. I almost force a smile— almost. But this is Cade. My Cade. He’s immune to lies.
“My vagina is on fire.”
Smooth, Andrea.
His brows lift in surprise.
“Okay, sorry, that was aggressive. Not like I’ve got an STD or anything, it feels like a UTI but not? The doctor already tested for that and a whole bunch of other shit last time and found a whoppingnothing. Can you believe that? Doesn’t make any damn sense. Why can’t they just figure it out? I can’t be the only one with this problem. And trust me, it’s a fucking problem. This shit doesn’t stop. Ever. I’ve tried over-the-counter pain killers, every homeopathic inflammation remedy— you know what? I’m gonna shut up now. Let’s forget I even said anything about my fire crotch on our first real date. Cool? Cool.”
God, now would be a good time to prove your existence. Smite me so I don’t have to live through this embarrassment any longer.Because Cade is just staring at me with this bewildered look in his mismatched eyes.
“This is a date?”
That’s all he got out of my tirade?
“I think so? I mean, it was supposed to be, but if you don't want it to be adate-date then it doesn't have to?—”
