Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I frown so hard that it sends a bolt of pain stabbing into my left eye. “You offered to feed me. And to let me sleep in your bed.”
She crosses her arms. “I never said you could sleep here.”
“Oh, well, my mistake,” I say, with a tight laugh. “The fact that you were okay with fucking me here before we fell asleep must have given me the wrong impression.” I shake my jeans out with a sharp crack of my arm. “I’ll be sure to get verbal consent to go to sleep beside you the next time you ride my cock until you scream my name and pass out on my chest.”
“There won’t be a next time.” Her lips press together. “This was a mistake. You should leave.”
“I’m already gone,” I say, stepping into my jeans as she charges toward the bedroom door. But as I’m zipping up, I remember why I’m at her house in the first place. I hurry out onto the landing overlooking the main room, calling down to her at the bottom of the stairs, “Ask your parents if you can stay with them for a few days. I’ll drop you there on my way to Gram’s.”
“You’re not my boss,” she says without slowing her speed walk toward the kitchen.
“I’m not trying to be your boss. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“I don’t need you to keep me safe,” she shouts back. “I need you to leave.”
Muttering obscenities beneath my breath, I head down the stairs. But even as I’m mentally calling this woman a cranky lunatic, something deep in my gut knows what this is really about.
Last night wasn’t just a fabulous one-night stand. It was hot as hell—yes—but it was also intimate and honest and real. Last night was the kind of night that’s the start of something more. It was the kind of night that makes you wonder if the reason none of your other relationships have worked out is because the universe had bigger plans for you.
Plans that include falling hard for a fabulous, funny, talented, secretly sweet and generous woman, whose broken heart only you can mend…
Okay, fine, I admit it, I have a thing about saving people. I like to be the guy who makes other people’s lives better, the opposite of my father, who destroyed everything he touched.
I grew up watching my dad hurt my mom and put my little sister in danger and feeling helpless to stop it. I was too small to fight back against a grown man. The best I could do was stay hyper-alert to signs of danger and make sure I picked baby Nora up and took her with me when I ran to hide.
And yeah, I get it, some people don’t want or need to be saved, but Mel needs me. She needs someone to give her pleasure and comfort. If she didn’t, she never would have said anything about how much she missed her son or her marriage last night.
Just like that, I know how to make this better.
I slow halfway through the living room, relaxing my tense hands and easing my shoulders away from my ears. I close my eyes, unclench my jaw, and remind myself that hurt people hurt people. I should know. I used to be one of those hurt people, the kind who didn’t know how to show my vulnerable underbelly without getting scared and lashing out at the people trying to help me. That’s why I teased Melissa when we were teens and told Gram to leave me alone when she offered to find me a therapist like the one my sister had been seeing since our parents abandoned us.
A part of me didn’t want to soften. I wanted to stay angry, stay hard. It seemed like the best way to keep all the pain at bay. If I focused only on my rage, I would never have to admit how much it hurt that the two people who were supposed to love me, no matter what, just…didn’t.
Thinking of the angry boy I was, remembering how hard it was to carry his aching heart around in my chest, I’m filled with a wave of compassion for Melissa. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy, and Mel isn’t my enemy. In fact, when she’s not showing her feral side, she’s someone I’d be honored to call a friend.
I pause in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her fill the kettle with water at the sink. “Hey,” I say gently. “I’m sorry I kissed you while you were sleeping. Now that I’ve had a second to think about it, I understand how that could be scary.”
She spins, her eyes still blazing. “I wasn’t scared.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask, careful to keep my tone calm and even. “I’ve never been through a breakup like you had with Ben, but I can imagine that must tear you apart inside. I bet it makes having feelings, even tiny little feelings, for someone else seem pretty scary.”