Page 79 of Last Resort

I take that back.

I know why I hesitate. It’s because since that night, things have changed between us and maybe I’m just desperate to get us back to before. To when I didn’t snuggle or care. Back to when I had sex then parted ways. Back to when there was no meaningful conversation or room for misunderstanding that more might be an option.

Back to when I thought I was a good thing for her but now fear I’m not.

And yet . . . I wrap my arm around her, pull her into me, and breathe her in.

“Did you figure it out yet, Cal?” She emits a slurred chuckle. “Do you mind if I call you Cal?”

“Yes. I mind. My brothers call me that, and it’s only when they’re trying to piss me off.” I run a hand down her back as I think about it. “Lately they seem to call me that all the time.”

“Hmm,” she says and then falls quiet. I think she’s actually fallen asleep on me, but then she finally speaks, her voice soft. “I know how that feels. The always being in trouble part.” She chuckles softly. “He was never happy with what I did. He set me up to fail for his own amusement. Asked me questions in front of his friends only to let me know my answers were wrong. Encouraged me to take the painting class I’d been wanting to take, only to make fun of what I created at the class showing. I thought love meant giving him what he needed, but . . . he took parts of me I didn’t even realize I’d given away until it was too late.”

“Sutton,” I say, uncertain if I’m giving it as a warning to make her aware of how much she’s sharing when she’s tipsy, or so I feel better that I did while wanting her to continue regardless.

“His career came first. His happiness. His . . . pleasure.” She snorts. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why Lizzy told me to do one thing for me.” Lizzy? One thing? “What girl turns down promotions because her boyfriend’s ego gets hurt that she might advance faster than he does? This girl, right here.” She lifts a hand and then lets it fall with a thud against my chest. “What girl is so ashamed that she let him steal days and years and hours from her life when she thought she was strong but really wasn’t? This girl, right here.”

“You are strong, Collins,” I murmur and press a kiss to her head as an unexplained fury vibrates beneath my skin.

She laughs as if she doesn’t believe a word I’ve said. “That’s what you think.” Another snort. She runs the tip of her nose against my jawbone and then back down. “Don’t be too sexy. Don’t draw too much attention to yourself. Talking to other men is considered flirting to me,” she says in a pretend man’s voice. “And God forbid any of that was allowed regardless of how alive it made me feel inside.” She shakes her head. “All I wanted was to feel alive.”

“He’s gone now,” I whisper.

“Clint. Clint was his name.” She lifts a middle finger in the air that makes me smile.

“I’ve never liked that name.”

“Me neither.”

“Fuck you, Clint.” I lift my glass in a silent toast and take a drink.

She laughs now, her hand sliding between the buttons on my shirt and resting on the bare skin of my chest. Does she have any clue how much I crave her touch?

“You make me feel alive, Callahan.”

“Sutton . . .” This woman leaves me at a loss for words more than anyone else in my life.

“Did you know that this girl had no clue you could have multiple orgasms during sex because her boyfriend was selfish and didn’t give a rat’s ass about her pleasure? I didn’t know until . . . you.”

Something akin to emotion lodges in my throat and makes it hard to swallow. The urge to lift her chin and kiss her mouth is there. The want to slide my hand up the line of her thigh and dip into the heaven between them even stronger.

But right now, nothing feels right. Not her confession. Not how it makes me feel. Not that I’m okay with a woman basically lying on top of me without the promise for more.

“Why can’t you be what I need?” she murmurs sleepily, absently, as if she’s already dreaming.

“I’m not what anyone needs, Collins,” I whisper. You have to be worth something to be needed. “Ever.”

“I disagree,” she says in a childish voice. “Why haven’t you tried to sleep with me again? Is it because my expiration date has past? Is it because you’ve moved on?”

“It’s none of that,” I murmur, hearing my own answer and feeling uncertain about what it means.

“Then fuck me, Johnnie,” she whispers. The same words she whispered that first night, and every ounce of my being has to fight the urge not to respond.

“Not like this, Collins.” I press another absent kiss to the top of her hair. “Not when you’re like this.”

“Why?”

Because I want you to remember. Because I want to know every fucking sensation is being felt by you too.