Page 46
She’s innocent, and I’m corrupt.
She’s kind, and I’m selfish.
She’s vulnerable, and I’m dangerous.
Light versus dark. Good versus bad.
The list goes on and on, but as I devour her mouth, nothing has ever felt so right.
Just as I cup the undersides of her breasts, Annie rips her mouth away from mine. “Let’s put a pause on the physical side of things and talk.”
When I rest my forehead on her shoulder and drag air deep into my lungs, she asks, “Do you even want to get to know me or just have sex?”
My head snaps up, and I lock eyes with her. Anger forces me to be honest, and it sounds more like a threat than a confession when I say, “I want to know everything about you.” My hands move up, framing her cheeks. “I want to know exactly how many freckles you have. I want to see what you look like when you walk in the rain or stare up at the stars. I want to watch your beautiful mind figure out all the things I can never tell you.” I press my forehead to hers. “Fuck, Annie. Yes, I want to get to know you. I want . . .” I shake my head, my voice turning hoarse. “. . . you.”
A breathtaking smile forms on her face, and hope shines from her eyes. “Wow.”
When I hear the door open at the bottom of the stairs, my body tenses.
Annie quickly picks up her keys and unlocks her door. Grabbing my hand, she pulls me into her apartment before shutting the door again.
While she sets the keys down in a small bowl on the counter between the kitchen and living room, she smiles like I just gave her the world.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea, soda, jui—”
“Just water,” I interrupt her.
My eyes track her as she grabs two bottles from the fridge, and I take in the pink flush on her cheeks and how fuckable her swollen lips look.
“Let’s sit down,” Annie says as she hands one of the waters to me.
I wait for her to take a seat on the sofa facing the TV before sitting down beside her. Just like the other time, she turns her body to face me and folds her legs beneath her.
“Tell me anything about yourself.” Her eyes are glued to me as she waits in anticipation to learn more about me.
To buy myself time, I unscrew the cap and drink some of the water.
Unable to lie to her, I clear my throat and reply, “I grew up on the streets.”
The happiness vanishes from her face. “I’m so sorry.”
Living on the streets of Chicago was actually the better part of my life. If this is her reaction to that, I’m fucked if she finds out who I really am.
Annie places her hand on my forearm. “You don’t have any family?” When I nod, she asks, “And you weren’t adopted?”
I shake my head, then explain, “My father died when I was three, and we lost everything. We ended up on the streets, but I can’t remember much about my mother. She died a few years later as well.”
Annie’s eyebrows draw together, and scooting closer until her knees press against my thigh, she brushes her fingers through my hair. Her tone is incredibly gentle as she asks, “What happened to her?”
“She just didn’t wake up one morning. I think I was nine.”
“And then?”
“I stayed with a group of homeless people. They did their best to help out.”
Knowing her next logical question will be about my later years, I say, “Your turn.”
“Okay.” She begins to trail her fingertips up and down my forearm, and I watch as goose bumps erupt over my skin. “Ask me anything.”
