24. Casey #2
She’s more stunning than any time I’ve ever seen her, hands down. She completely takes my breath away.
“Casey?” Her eyebrows pinch together, somehow making her even more adorable than she was a moment ago. “What are you doing here?”
I’m so disoriented that I automatically hold up my gift like I’m some kind of puppet on a string. “I brought you a book,” I say stupidly.
Her lips curl up into a lopsided smile as she holds the door open farther so I can pass into her apartment. “In that case, come on in.”
Even bounding up the stairs to her apartment shouldn’t make me as breathless as I am. I’m not the nervous type, nor am I the type to prepare sprawling, romantic speeches. It’s her. She does this to me. And I can’t say I don’t like it.
“What kind of book did you bring me?” Her voice is teasing, lilting. She has no idea about the war playing out inside my head. She probably thinks I’m only here to fuck her, and that realization punches me in the gut.
Unable to get words out, I simply hand it to her. She takes it from me and sits on her sofa, laying the book on her lap and looking at it. Her playful smile falters a bit as she runs her hand over the crinkly plastic that the library used to laminate the dust jacket.
“You got me a library book?” she asks softly. Her hazel eyes turn upward to meet mine in question.
Not sure if I should sit next to her, I lean against her counter and shove my hands in my pockets. “I passed by the library on my way here. They were doing their book sale on the sidewalk, and I remember you saying you wanted to read that one.”
She turns her gaze back down to the book in her lap, running her delicate fingers over the cover and spine. “I love library books,” she says so quietly I almost miss it.
“You said you were going to visit the library in Denver.”
Her head snaps up, brows deeply furrowed. “You remember that?”
When I nod, she drops her gaze back to her lap.
She swallows audibly, tracing the words of the title on the cover.
“I…” Her chest rises and falls a little more rapidly.
I don’t dare move one muscle. It’s clear she’s struggling with words, and not one thing I rehearsed on the way over here is more important than whatever she wants to tell me right now.
Opening the book and flipping through the pages, she sighs.
“Did I ever tell you I spent most of my life living with my aunt?” Without looking at me, she huffs a breathy laugh.
“Of course I never told you that. I don’t talk about it.
It wasn’t bad or anything, it just…” She finally looks up at me and shrugs.
Her hands tense on top of the book in her lap, so I cross to the sofa and sit next to her. Her shoulders relax a little.
“Anyway, the library was where I’d go when I needed to get away. My mom—” She almost chokes on the word, cutting herself off. With a rapid shake of her head, she tries again. “She used to take me when I was little. Before she was arrested.”
Trina goes quiet except for the tapping of her fingers against the book cover. She lifts her gaze slowly to meet mine, and there’s a question in her gorgeous eyes. She’s worried what I’m going to say about all of this.
Keeping my tone as steady as I can, I ask, “Where is your mom now?”
She lifts her slender shoulders again, defeated. She turns her attention to something in the area of her kitchen. “We haven’t talked in a long time.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Her attention snaps back to me. She studies me for a long moment, and I let her. I want her to see that she can’t scare me away. Quite the opposite—she’s given me a little taste of her life, and I want more.
“I don’t want to talk about that.” She drops her gaze to my lips, then drags it back up the planes of my face. “But if I were a gambling woman, I’d bet you came here to talk about something else?”
The only sign of surprise I give her is a quick succession of blinks, but she doesn’t miss it.
Her pink lips pull upward into a self-satisfied smirk.
She’s changing the subject by turning the tables, and while I know there’s probably much more to this story, it’s clear she doesn’t want to tell it yet. That’s okay, I’m a patient man.
But this is exactly what I came here for—to tell her how I feel. I would be a fool to ignore the opening.
“What gave it away?” I ask, stalling.
“The book.” She flattens her palm against it as if to ground herself. “The thoughtfulness of it.” A little laugh escapes her. “The fact that you didn’t jump me the minute you walked in the room. I look hot.”
“You do,” I say without thinking, soaking in the way her cheeks grow rosy with the compliment.
“You’ll take whatever I’ll give you,” she repeats what I told her weeks ago, growing serious.
“I will.”
“You want more.”
“If you do.”
“We’re not on the same page anymore,” she whispers.
I scoot closer to her and cup her face with my hands. “I want to be.”
Trina’s chest heaves with a deep breath that she lets out slowly, but she doesn’t break eye contact with me. It’s almost as if she’s forcing herself not to look away.
“I’m a little bit broken, Casey,” she insists. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Aren’t we all?” I counter. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but Trina…
I can’t stop thinking about you. When I’m with you, when I’m not with you, it doesn’t matter.
All I’m asking is that you put me out of my misery either way—if you’re not feeling this, then tell me now and I’ll go away.
But if you are…” I trail off helplessly.
“My job is all I have,” she protests weakly. “I’d be lost without it.”
Given what she just told me, I have a strong suspicion her concerns about her job are a front. “In an industry rife with nepotism and favoritism, I think us trying out a relationship isn’t high on anyone’s priority list, including Suzanna. Are you really worried about that?”
She pauses for a moment, her eyes sparkling as they bounce back and forth between mine. Then, she gives a quick shake of her head.
“Let me in, Trina,” I beg. “Let me care for you.”
The silence that stretches between us goes on for so long that it’s almost unbearable.
This is what writers and editors call a pregnant pause—one so full of suspense that I feel like I might burst waiting for her answer.
I don’t think I fully understood the term before now, as I’m trying so hard to give her the space to choose.
But she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she places the book next to her on the sofa and brings her hands up to cup my face, mirroring me. She slides one leg over my lap and settles her hips on top of mine.
And then, finally, our lips meet.
My whole body exhales as she folds herself into me, teasing the seam of my lips with her tongue. I open for her, capturing her moan and taking it for myself. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of these little sounds she makes. I want to bottle them up and keep them for later.