Till Summer Do Us Part(75)

My cheeks flame from the compliment. “Oh, sorry.”

“No problem. Just going to state for the record, if things in the morning are…happy to see you, I’m sorry in advance. I’m sharing a sleeping bag with a hot-as-hell girl who’s no longer wearing a bra. I did the best that I could.”

Oh, umm, was that just a compliment?

Hot as hell?

Does he really mean that?

Does it really matter?

Shouldn’t matter to me. I should just let it roll off my shoulders, but then again, I can’t remember the last time I was complimented in such a way.

“Um, don’t worry about it if it does happen. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He chuckles, his chest rumbling behind me. “Please remember that in the morning.”

His hand shifts over my stomach as he finds his comfortable spot, and butterflies erupt in my chest from the caress. God, it’s really been that long for me. Hard to imagine that a small touch like that can erupt so many feelings inside me.

“Can’t remember the last time I was held like this,” I say, not wanting to hold that thought in.

“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“Matt wasn’t much of a touchy-feely guy. And as distance started to crawl into our relationship, it drove him further and further away.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Wilder says, sounding truly sympathetic. “And one of your love languages is touch, right?”

“I mean…yeah, I like to be touched. I like to be complimented. I don’t need someone telling me how beautiful I am every second of every day, but if I dress up, it’s nice to know that someone notices me.”

“That’s just human decency,” he says softly. “For what it’s worth, when you wear shorts and a T-shirt, you’re beautiful. When you wear a pencil skirt and a tucked-in shirt…equally beautiful.”

“You don’t have to say that.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I know I shouldn’t have muttered them. It just feels reactionary, to not accept a compliment but rather put myself down.

And Wilder calls me out on it.

He lifts up and pushes me to my back. Even in the dark, I can see the crinkle in his brow. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t say shit just to say it. When I say you’re beautiful, I fucking mean it. Got it, Scottie?”

I nod my head, feeling ashamed that I allow myself to think such negative thoughts about myself. “I’m sorry. I know we talked about it. I’m just…I’m struggling to believe what’s true and what’s…what’s you just being nice to me.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, you’re my best friend’s brother, and I know you’re on a mission to help me. And when people are trying to help others, they sometimes…embellish to build confidence, you know? And I’m trying to figure out what is true and what is embellishing.”

He slowly nods but keeps his eyes on me. They feel like they’re boring a hole straight into my soul as he says, “I wouldn’t fucking embellish on that shit. Do you want me to give it to you straight? Because I will.”

“That’s not necess—”

“You’re beautiful,” he says. “Stunning actually. I get lost in your eyes when I shouldn’t because they’re so unique and I want to know more about the brown ring around your pupil and why it fades into this ocean blue that I can’t quite figure out. I’ve caught myself catching glimpses of your lips, wondering why they look so soft when I never see you put lip balm on. When you speak, there is hurt in your voice, like someone took a piece of your soul and hasn’t returned it, yet it makes you who you are—makes you that much more interesting. There have been times when I’ve wanted to touch your hair, push it behind your ear, just feel it because it’s so silky. You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met before—complex yet simple. Insecure but also very confident. And I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t attracted to you. And I’m not saying this to hit on you. I’m not saying this to try to get you to tear your shirt off. I’m saying this because you deserve to hear it. You deserve the truth. You are beautiful, Scottie.”

My heart is hammering against my rib cage.

My mouth is dry, but my palms are sweaty.

And for a girl who has a hard time taking a compliment even though she wants them…I felt that one all the way to my soul.

I wet my lips. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

And then we stare at each other for a few seconds, his hand still on my stomach, his frame nearly hovering over mine, the proximity of our bodies so close. I have this overwhelming sensation to trail my hand down his chest. To ask him to lift my shirt and caress his warm palm over my skin. To wrap my hand around the back of his neck and bring him in even closer.

“You know,” he says, breaking the tension building between us, “it wouldn’t hurt you to compliment me.”

A sense of ease works its way through me as I chuckle. “Fishing?”

“Maybe a little. Go ahead.” He nods. “Say something nice. Boost my ego for me.”

I sigh but continue to look him in the eyes. Honestly? There are many things I could compliment Wilder with. He’s a faithful, kindhearted brother, someone who defends people he feels are being wronged. No matter the consequences. He’s funny. He’s super sexy with those nearly colorless eyes and ripped muscles. But the need to tease him is overwhelming. “You’re not normally my type.”