And Trent blamed me for the breakup. As though he had no part in it, as though I was a siren who seduced him.
The next day after I received the “hate” package, I spent the night at my house. Rose wanted me there since my mother’s book club usually ran late. She didn’t want to be alone with her, so I stayed. Lo got wasted, and then I heard, he was thrown in jail for vandalism and underage drinking.
All I could think: At least he took a cab. At least he had enough sense not to drive drunk.
“Maybe it was fucked up,” Loren whispers.
“I liked your note,” I murmur.
His brow rises. “Drink up, pig?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
His eyes drift to my lips. “You’re strange.”
“So are you.”
“Good.” He leans closer. “We can be strange together.”
His heart thuds against my chest while his hands fall on either side of my shoulders, pressing to the cushion. His head dips low, and his mouth hovers an inch from mine. He stays still for a moment, and my nerves prick at the way we’re melded together, the way he seems to fit perfectly against me.
My chin tilts up, my eyes closing as I fantasize about where this could head. He could take me here. Now. And never let go. He could rock until my hips buck and my thighs clench around his waist. I could be so full of Loren Hale that I’ll ache when he decides enough is enough.
His large hand caresses my cheek, holding my face with security. “Open your eyes,” he whispers.
My lids flutter, and I see him staring so intently, absorbing my tiny, sharp movements. Full of lust and power and soul. And then I begin to wake up from my dream. He’ll see what a fiend I am. He’ll realize how needy and gross I can become, and he’ll toss me away as a friend and as a lover. If I cross the line—if he fills this need inside of me—what will become of us?
What will become of me?
The fear washes me cold. And my breathing deepens in alarm. “Your father’s gone,” I remind him. There’s no reason to pretend anymore. Not when we’re alone.
His forehead wrinkles in a deep frown. He licks his bottom lip and shakes his head. “He may come back.” He won’t, I should tell him.
But his other hand disappears between our pelvises, and his fingers touch outside my long johns, to a spot that causes me to tremble beneath him and I let out a sharp gasp.
“You’re wet,” he breathes.
“Lo…” I start, shutting my eyes as I begin to drift off again.
“Look at me,” he says.
Tension wraps us in a tight, uncomfortable cocoon, and I succumb to this one wish, opening my eyes for the second time.
His two hands hold my face again, cupping me with intensity and purpose and deep passion. My parted lips nearly meet his.
“You need me,” he whispers, his breath filling my lungs.
Yes.
But the word stays buried beneath fear. I stare at him, drowning in his amber eyes.
He stares at me, swimming into my heady gaze.
It’s what we don’t say that hurts the most. Neither of us will speak to unwind the things that cause this friction to build and torment. So we watch and wait and listen to each other’s heavy breath.
Some choices define us. And in this moment, I make a decision that will change the course of our lives forever.
Or maybe, I just prolong the inevitable.
Either way, in my heart, I know this feels right.
BONUS MATERIAL
ADDICTED FOR NOW
Chapter One
{1}
Of all the days in the month, I have to be stuck in traffic on the one that means the most to me. I try not to badger Nola, my family’s driver, on our ETA to the house I share with Rose. Instead, I anxiously shift on the leather seat and rapidly text my sister.
Is he already there? Please say no, please tell me I haven’t missed his homecoming. I’m supposed to wait on the white wrap-around porch of our secluded house: many acres of lush land, a crystal blue pool, black shutters. The only thing it’s missing is the picket fence. I’m supposed to give him a tour of the cozy living room and the granite kitchen, leading him upstairs to the bedrooms where Rose and I sleep. He won’t be in one of the two guest rooms. Nope, he’ll be making residence in mine for the first time ever.
And maybe awkwardness will linger at the idea of sharing a bed and a bathroom day and night, at the idea of cohabitating beyond a kitchen. Our relationship will be one-hundred percent real, and there’ll be no nightcaps of bourbon or whiskey. I’ll be able to say don’t do that. And he’ll be able to grip my wrists, keeping me from compulsively climaxing until I pass out.