Page 62 of Sparrow

“I always thought you liked taking care of everyone,” she says suddenly.

Ah, here we are.

“I do,” I admit. And then: “That doesn’t mean I’m always good at it. And sometimes I just want to have the choice, you know? Sometimes I want to be able to say no. Maybe even do something for myself. Sleep in on a Saturday instead of jumping out of bed because Bear’s got himself in trouble or Sammy needs a ride. Maybe even fall in love. Start a family of my own.”

“That’s wildly romantic,” she notes.

Shit.

“It’s not,” I protest.

“It is. But I don’t blame you. Sometimes, you want to stop carrying the world on your back and enjoy the beautiful things. And sometimes, I think, you want to have someone else take care of you, instead of the other way around.”

I don’t answer that one.

I’m too busy wondering how the hell she figured that out when I didn’t even realize it myself.

Arden

By the time we head home it’s past 2 in the morning and I’m both exhausted and energized at the same time. I lean into Mars as he drives, letting my body move with him and reveling in the feel of his solid muscle in front of me. He’s hot and hard and strong, and smells of pencils and ink– a strange combination for a mechanic–with an undertone of cold air and mountain heights.

He also told me some of his deepest secrets up there on the mountain, and I can’t help feeling that he gave me something more precious to hold than he was expecting.

I wrap my arms more firmly around him and he reaches up to press my hands against his belly.

I catch my breath at the movement, the casual intimacy of it, and feel a sudden rush of warmth between my legs. His hand on my hands, pressing them against his skin, after what he just shared up on the mountain, feels intentional. Personal.

Hot.

He must realize that I’m shivering behind him, because he pulls his shirt up and tucks my hands under them, against the skin of his belly, and I nearly groan. He’s hot in a way I wasn’t expecting, his abs hard and tense under my hands, and I know I shouldn’t be touching him like this. The man is related to my stepmother and I’ve known him through my life as ‘uncle,’ though we aren’t actually related.

And yet here I am with my legs practically wrapped around him, my hands mere inches from the length of his cock, his words about wanting a family still ringing in my ears and my own blood going several shades hotter in my veins.

Bad idea, I tell myself firmly. This is a bad idea. Dangerous. Reckless. It’ll just lead to trouble.

And I have no idea how he feels about me.

Except, I realize, I’m starting to suspect. Because he’s good at solving other people’s problems, but I don’t think he hands his own problems to a girl unless he trusts her.

Unless he wants her to see how vulnerable he can be.

I bite my lip, close my eyes against a sharp turn, and then draw my mind back to where it belongs: Planning how soon I’m going to leave town, and how I can repay Mars and Orion for letting me stay.

I don’t think again about how close my hands are to his cock.

Or how much I want to reach down and feel him. Just to see how he would react.

When we get to the house, Mars presses one searing kiss to my forehead and then turns without speaking and heads into the house. I follow him, the words I want to say caught in my throat, but by the time my eyes adjust to the dark he’s already heading up the stairs to his room and leaving me behind.

Without a word.

Without so much as an acknowledgement of what we just went through.

I don’t understand how he can do that–just shut down after a night like this. I’m still feeling the wind on my face, the darkness in my veins, and the stars on my skin as he tells me things I don’t think he ever tells anyone.

I’m still feeling the warm weight of him between my legs, his hands pressing my hands into the skin of his belly.

I can’t sleep.