Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Crew shifts, gripping the wide collar of my top, his knuckles scarred from one too many fights in his life, creating a roughness that softly scratches over my skin as he lifts the thin material back onto my shoulder.
Heat floods my veins, my body growing heavier.
“If a guy grabs me like this, what’s it mean?”
Crew’s frown is quick, and he tenses slightly. “What?”
“You know, if I’m out with someone, and they haul me into them, all caveman, like you just did. What’s it mean?”
His teeth clench. “Someone grab you like this before?”
“I wish.”
A beat passes, his lips forming a tight line as he stares, and then he jerks closer, drawing a short gasp from me.
“If you’re out with a man and he holds you like this.” His grip tightens. “It means he wants to be close to you, to feel you. It means he wants to touch you and for you to touch him back.”
“Touch him how?”
He gives a slow shake of his head. “Davis—”
He cuts off when my palms come up, pressing over his pecs. I expand my fingers, closing my eyes as I picture it, me in the strong arms of a man who wants me there—I imagine it’s Crew who wants me there. My hands drift down to his sternum and back up until the pads of my fingers meet the heated skin of a firmly corded neck, discovering a tiny scar at the nape of it. I soothe the spot with my fingertips, slowly dragging them toward his throat.
A grin pulls at my lips, and my lids peel open, locking with his. “Like that?”
Thick veins flex against my fingertips, his gaze piercing, voice low and raspy. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because that was fun and I kind of feel accomplished now, like I took a pop quiz and made it my bitch.”
“Jesus,” he whispers, shaking his head with a low, huffed chuckle as he slowly releases me and moves toward the kitchen.
My kitchen.
Our kitchen?
“So, are we back to old times?” I close my hands over the back of a chair, kicking my shoes off. “Me and you under the same roof?”
Crew nods, setting a glass of water in front of me with a stern gleam in his gaze.
I drink it without argument, and with each slow swallow, a heaviness settles over the man before me. One last swallow and I set the glass back down.
“I’m pissed at you, Davis.” He looks away, running his tongue along his lips. “How fucked up is that?”
“Pretty fucked up.”
His head snaps my way, and he settles slightly when he’s met with my small smile.
“You mad at me, too?” he asks.
“You know I’m not.” My tone is soft. “A little sad I’m not a part of your life anymore, but not mad you chose not to tell me.”
“Stop.” He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”
“No, really, I’m not mad. How fair would it be if I were?”
He pins me with a pointed look. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
I shrug.
Crew regards me, something I can’t quite read, shadowed behind his eyes.
Unsure of what else to say, I circle around to the couch, and Crew follows, but remains standing when I flop onto the cushion.
Okay, maybe I’m a hair past buzzed.
“You know,” I drawl teasingly. “This is pretty ideal. I basically have a live-in tutor now. I’d have killed for one of those my freshman year, when I didn’t do my research and signed up for Mr. Moreno’s English class. Talk about a tough grader.” I narrow my gaze on Crew. “Are you going to be super tough? Make me do things over and over until I’m, I don’t know, immune to blushing or something?”
It takes a moment of his staring for him to respond, and when he does, his tone is lighter. “I doubt we could ever get you past that.”
“Really? You think I’ll forever be plagued with sharing my inner ‘he’s so fine’ and ‘that did not just happen?’”
He settles into the spot beside me. “I hope so.”
I frown. “What, why?”
His lips pull up, and he peeks at me from the corner of his eye. “I like it when you blush.”
I fake gag, and this time, he laughs louder.
Both of us grow quiet, understanding passing between us.
I’m a little hurt, he’s a little hurt, but we both made the choice not to inform the other person of our situations and the reasons why are ours alone. You would think the distance and time apart would make the lack of sharing irrelevant or expected, but it isn’t. Maybe it’s because we’re connected on a deeper level.
Maybe it’s because I want to know him and for him to know me better than anyone else.
For me, I was trying to respect the distance he made clear he needed for himself, so why say a word when he could still find me if he wanted to? Had we been talking every day, like before, he’d have known the moment I knew, but we weren’t.