Page 8 of My Girl to Ruin

I just stand there, watching her move around my kitchen like she’s always been here. Like she fits here. My gaze drifts on its own. Her outfit is simple. Jeans that hug her hips and thighs. A soft top that clings just enough to show the curve of her waist, the gentle rise of her chest. Nothing revealing.

But it doesn’t matter. Because I notice everything. The way she moves. The way her body bends and shifts as she reaches for things. The way her hair falls forward when she leans down, catching the light. I dig my thumb into my palm until the ache cuts through the desire.

She’s grown. That I’m fully aware. Not just physically. There’s confidence there now. A quiet kind, but it’s real. It’s in the way she stands her ground, in the way she doesn’t look away from me unless she chooses to.

And when our eyes meet, she does look away. A soft blush spreads across her cheeks, her lashes lowering just slightly. My chest goes tight, and lower than that, my body answers before I’ve decided anything. I drag my gaze away, but it doesn’t help.

The air in the apartment feels different now. Thicker. Warmer. Every movement, every small sound she makes, sends heat straight to my cock.

We eat in silence at first. Or at least, I do. She talks. About small things. About nothing. Filling the space like she’s trying to make up for the years we lost. I answer when I have to in short, clipped responses that don’t give her much to work with.

But she doesn’t stop. Slowly, without me meaning to, I start responding more. A word here. A sentence there. My voice becomes less sharp, less defensive. It’s…easy. Too easy. That’s the problem.

Afterward, she stands, gathering the plates like it’s expected.

“We should do the dishes,” she says, already moving toward the sink.

We.

The word sits wrong and right at the same time. I follow anyway. Because I don’t know how not to. The space between us narrows as we work, shoulders brushing occasionally, hands moving too close. The sound of running water fills the silence, but it doesn’t cover the tension building underneath it.

Then, her fingers touch mine. It’s accidental. Or maybe it’s not. Either way, everything stops. I look down. Then up. Her eyes meet mine, wide and uncertain, but there’s something else there too. Something warmer. Braver.

The air shifts. Neither of us moves.

Then I do.

I have her face in my hands before I’ve decided to, tilting her chin up, and I kiss her. She makes a small sound against my mouth and I feel it everywhere. Heat slams into me, sharp and total, something primal snapping awake. My hand finds her waist, and she comes up onto her toes, soft and warm and giving, and for one second I let myself have it. Her mouth. Her taste. The way she goes pliant under my hands like she’s been waiting four years for someone to touch her like this.

Wrong.

Reality crashes in. I pull back sharply, stepping away like I’ve been burned.

“That doesn’t happen again,” I say, and it comes out wrong. Rough, edged with everything I’m trying to shove back down.

Her expression falters, confusion flickering across her face. “I—”

“Is that what this was?” I cut in, the bitterness arriving before I can stop it. “Show up here, play house, cook for me. Is that what you came for?”

Her eyes widen, hurt flashing across her face instantly. “What? No…that’s not—”

“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

“You kissed me.” Her voice is shaking now, frustration rising to meet mine. “Don’t you dare put that on me.”

And she’s right, and I know she’s right, and I keep going anyway.

“Fine,” I say bluntly. “I kissed you. It doesn’t mean anything. I just got out of prison,” I add, my tone colder now. “You think you’re the only woman I’d react to like that?”

The silence afterward is total.

Then her lips part slightly, her eyes glassy now, the hurt no longer hidden. “Wow,” she whispers.

The sound cuts deeper than anything she could’ve shouted.

“I didn’t realize that’s what you thought of me.”

I don’t respond. Because if I do, I’ll take it back. And I can’t.