Chapter 6 #2
“I dare you to hold my hand.”
I pause, and something shifts in the air between us. His tone is different, softer.
Fuck.
This takes so much more nerve than the doorbell, but I reach out and take his hand, my fingers curling around his.
“Good,” he whispers. “Now, I dare you to come to my place.”
A thrill runs through me at his words, excitement, and nerves. I laugh to cover it up. “First of all, it’s my turn. And secondly, how come we only ever pick dare and never truth?”
He cups my cheek with his free hand, his thumb tracing my cheekbone and sending goose bumps erupting on my arms.
“Because we’re both made out of the same stuff, Trouble,” he murmurs. “Neither of us is afraid to jump, even when we don’t know where we’re gonna land.”
I swallow hard, caught off guard by his intensity, the way he’s looking at me like he can see straight into my soul. For a second, I forget to breathe. I forget everything but the feel of his hand on my cheek and the heat in his gaze.
Fuck it.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll go home with you.”
Ace’s lips curl into a slow smile, then he leads me down the street to the gnome, collecting his underwear before we head toward his place. When he squeezes my hand, it’s the first time in a long while that I don’t want to run away. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
A faint glow of a garage light spills out onto the driveway like last time, the low murmur of voices and the smell of cigarette smoke hitting me.
A group of men is hanging around the garage, their laughter cutting through the quiet night.
Ace’s arm comes around my waist and pulls me close, and the tension builds in my chest.
One of the men, I’d guess he’s in his forties, who has the same blond hair as Ace, looks up as we approach. His blue eyes narrow slightly, studying me with a look that makes me feel as if I’m being sized up.
“Who’s this?” the man asks gruffly, carrying an edge of authority. It takes me a second to realize this must be Ace’s dad.
“Trouble,” Ace states casually, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it that makes me pause. “She’s my girl.”
His girl?
I sneak a glance at him, but Ace’s focus is still on his dad. His father’s eyes flick over me once more, but there’s no malice, only… measuring. Weighing. And then, a slow nod. “All right, Trouble. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, having no idea what that’s supposed to mean and still stuck on that word. Girl. His girl.
Ace leads me into the house and down a narrow hallway to his room, which is pure chaos.
There are clothes everywhere, posters barely tacked to the walls, playing cards scattered around, and the unmistakable scent of him fills the space.
My eyes dart around, trying to take it all in, but it’s hard to focus when my mind is racing.
“I know, it’s a mess,” he says, stepping in front of me.
I cross my arms, leaning back against the closed door. “Your girl?”
“Caught that, huh?” The hint of a smile blooms on his face as he reaches out, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip, and every nerve in my body feels as though it’s just caught fire.
“I knew it the moment I saw you,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing the path of his thumb.
“And don’t get me wrong, I’m not skipping the work to get there.
It’s the best part. But if my old man knows you’re mine, you’re gonna have some perks. ”
His words are bold, and my heart is doing that stupid flutter thing again. I want to play it cool, but it comes out small. “So, you simply decided I’m yours?”
“Of course not. You have a say in it.” Ace tilts his head, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “You wanna be mine, Trouble? Because damn, I’m already yours.”
My heart is hammering now, but this stubborn voice in my head won’t quit, and it sounds a lot like Rosalee. “Do you say that to all the girls you want to get in bed with?”
“No.” He chuckles, and it’s lighter than I expected, almost tender, as his hands come to rest on my hips, pulling me closer. “I’ve never called anyone mine because I’ve never wanted to keep any of them.” He leans in closer, his lips barely brushing mine. “But you? I want to keep you.”
I see it in his ice-blue eyes. He’s not playing games.
Fuck.
“I’ve never felt this before,” he confesses.
“We’ve known each other for like two seconds,” I manage to say, though I have to swallow hard, and my heart is pounding against my ribcage.
I’ve never felt like this, either.
Ace’s hand finds my throat, pressing his thumb gently over my pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath my skin.
“Two seconds is all a mentalist needs to read someone’s soul,” he whispers, a low rumble that vibrates through me.
“To know every secret hidden beneath the surface. And in those two seconds, I knew I wasn’t letting you slip away.
You feel it, too, don’t you? This pull between us? Fucking magic.”
He pulls me closer by my neck, his lips crashing into mine with a heat that sears through me. His hand cups my cheek, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over my skin. My mind is spinning, caught between wanting to pull away so I can catch my breath and wanting to dive deeper, to feel more of him.
Before I can decide, Ace makes the choice for me.
He scoops me up effortlessly, his lips never breaking contact with mine.
In two strides, he’s across the room, lowering me onto his bed.
The mattress dips under our combined weight, and his body is above mine, pressing down enough that I feel him all over me.
His kisses become more urgent, more insistent, and I struggle to keep up, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded. His lips trail from my mouth down my neck, giving me a chance to catch my breath.
When he moves lower, brushing over my collarbone, I gasp.
He’s kissing his way down the fabric of my top, his mouth hot and teasing against the sliver of exposed skin above my waistband.
The sensation is overwhelming, and a rush of heat pools low in my belly, spreading like wildfire, and all I can do is try to remember how to breathe.
This is too fast.
“Ace,” I manage to say a little shakily. “Wait, please. I’ve never…”
He pauses, lifting his head to meet my eyes. His blond hair is a mess, but his expression softens. He’s curious yet careful, as if trying to read every thought flashing across my face.
“You’ve never what?” he asks. His tone is gentle, coaxing, but there’s an intensity there too.
I swallow, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability.
Fuck, am I really telling him this?
What if he loses interest?
“I… I’ve never… done any of this.”
His eyes widen, surprise flitting across his features. “You’ve never done anything?”
I nod, feeling exposed under his gaze, the admission barely more than a whisper. “This… you were my first kiss.”
A slow grin spreads across his face, and his eyes darken. “Your very first kiss?” he murmurs, seemingly savoring the revelation, tasting each word.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans, tugging them down just enough to reveal the curve of my hip.
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die as his lips press a slow, deliberate kiss there, his breath warm against my skin.
His ice-blue eyes flick up, holding mine captive, and I’m caught in his gaze, unable to look away, unable to think of anything except the heat of his mouth on me.
“I’m going to claim all your firsts, Trouble,” he murmurs against my skin, each word a promise filled with intent. “We’ve got all the time in the world… no need to rush.”
I jolt out of the memory that had gripped me, startled by a loud clatter from the street below. My hearts still racing from the vivid flashback when I hear a familiar voice yell, “Fuck!”
Pulling my cami back on, I push myself off the bed and step to the window to look down.
Hottie’s broad shoulders are tense as he straddles his bike under the streetlamp’s light, the engine roaring to life beneath him.
He tears off down the street, leaving nothing behind but the fading rumble of his motorcycle.
“Shit.” I press my forehead against the cool glass.
I really fucked that up.
But dammit, he triggered me. His lips on my tattoo, which I got with the first money I earned as a stripper, were too much after a fuckup of a day like today. It sent me spiraling.
I sigh and push away from the window. Tugging my skirt and panties down, I look down at the small red heart with an A on my hipbone, right where Ace’s lips once breathed that promise into my skin.
“I’m going to claim all your firsts, Trouble.”
Well, he didn’t. He got a lot of them, but not all. Our time together was too damn short. Six months. Just six months after he swore we had all the time in the world, time ran out.
I touch the tattoo lightly, my fingers tracing the edges as memories rush back.
“You wanna be mine, Trouble? Because damn, I’m already yours.”
I’m too sober for this.
Stumbling into the living room, I grab the bottle of whiskey and collapse onto the couch, surrounded by little diamonds. The burn of alcohol is a welcome distraction as I take long swigs straight from the bottle.
Why did I even bring Hottie home? Hell, he wasn’t supposed to get under my skin like this. He’s the fucking bartender—sharp, witty, flirty, and hot as hell, but easy enough to ignore.
Yeah, sure.
That’s what I get for making an exception for him. I shake my head, biting back a frustrated laugh. He literally quit his fucking job. For me. And I didn’t even protest when he showed me the text. Why didn’t I stop him? Why didn’t I laugh in his face and tell him how absolutely ridiculous it was?
What kind of person does that? Throws away their stability for someone like me?
He doesn’t know me, not really. If he did, he wouldn’t have sent that text.
He wouldn’t have kissed me. Selfishly, deep down, I wanted him to do it.
I wanted him to make me feel as if I was worth something more than a quick fuck.
I wanted him to choose me, even if it was reckless and absurd, because I know I won’t choose him. I can’t.
Even though when he kissed me and his lips touched mine, it felt like every wall I’d spent years building came crashing down. It was a high, a rush I’d craved for so long, even though I should know better by now.
Because beneath all the glimmer and gleam, there’s only me, still holding up the walls, making sure no one gets too close. But that’s the thing about walls, they don’t just keep people out. They trap you inside too. And sometimes, I wonder if I’ve gotten a little too good at this game.
Hottie wasn’t supposed to matter. He was supposed to stay on the fringes, a little spark to distract me. Except the moment his lips touched my damn tattoo, everything came flooding back. The promises. The loss. The pain. It was too much. I couldn’t let him get that close. Not there.
Not to that part of me.
He wasn’t supposed to care about me. I’m not supposed to care about him. And yet, here I am, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how it felt when he kissed me, looking at me like I was something more than another girl passing through his life, like I was worth staying for.
Now he’s gone, probably thinking I’m just another broken mess, another complication not worth the effort.
And he would be right.
My eyes grow heavy, and I feel myself slipping under when a familiar weight settles in my lap.
I blink blearily, forcing my eyes open to find Good Lookin’.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, turning to see that we left the patio door wide open.
When I look back at her, her bright green eyes stare up at me with that calm, indifferent gaze only cats can manage.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, my voice thick as I run my fingers through her fur. “I’m such a mess.”
She doesn’t care. She just purrs, the vibrations soothing against my legs. It’s the kind of comfort that asks for nothing, expects nothing. And right now, it’s exactly what I need.
Tomorrow, the walls will go back up, and the world will only see the glitter.