Chapter 10
TEN
VERITY
I’m grateful for the reprieve when Warrick opens the front door and guides me into his house. Cora, Lulu, and Alice all seem lovely, but meeting so many people and being the center of attention, when I’ve spent the months since I ran from my apartment trying not to be noticed, is a lot.
I’m not sure how Warrick knew, but I was about ten seconds away from bursting into embarrassing tears when he sat down beside me on the couch and took my hand in his. His touch shouldn’t be comforting, but his reassuring squeeze calmed me down and let me know I was okay.
Having him beside me didn’t scare me, it made me feel better.
Allowing Warrick to get me in his car and drive me away from the safety of town was stupid, but even though he’s a stranger and I have no reason to trust him, I’ve started to realize that I do.
He makes me feel safe, and that’s something I haven’t truly felt in months… maybe years.
Everyone I’ve met since he told me I could stay at his house has assured me that I’m safe with him, and I’m starting to believe them.
Maybe I was just lucky enough to be found sleeping rough in a tent by the only decent man left.
Maybe I’m here for a reason. Or maybe that’s all wishful thinking and I’ll be dead in a few days.
Either way, the desperate urge to flee has settled into a steady reminder that good things don’t happen to me, and that although I might be safe right now, that feeling never lasts that long.
“What do you want for lunch?” Warrick asks.
“Oh, I’m not hungry,” I instinctually say.
“You need three proper meals a day to regain your strength,” he says, completely disregarding my words. “I have stuff for subs, or I have soup or ramen.”
“Honestly—”
Silencing me with a lethal look, he says. “Amore mio, you’re having lunch. Now you can either pick what you want to eat, or I can pick for you.”
“Ramen would be nice,” I concede, a little too easily.
“Okay then. Why don’t you watch a little TV while I cook?” he says, stepping into my space and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, letting go of my hand and heading for the kitchen.
“I could help,” I say, my voice a little breathy.
“Sit, amore mio, relax.”
The moment I sit down on his couch, I feel cold and oddly alone. I don’t know why being alone is suddenly bothering me, because I should be used to it. But a wave of loneliness washes over me, making tears prickle at the backs of my eyes.
Fighting the urge to take myself to the kitchen, I turn the TV on and try to focus on the screen, but my attention keeps getting drawn to the man I barely know who’s making lunch for us.
In my experience, ramen only takes as long as it takes the microwave to boil the water, but from what I can see from the couch, Warrick looks like he’s chopping something, and there’s steam billowing from somewhere.
“Lunch is ready,” he calls, ten minutes later, when I’ve barely paid any attention to the show I put on and have spent most of the time trying to discreetly watch him.
Jumping up, it takes more effort than it should to not rush over to the table.
I don’t feel that hungry, but I must be, because I’m marching toward him like I haven’t eaten in a month.
Just like the other times we’ve eaten together, Warrick has laid two place settings side by side, and I eagerly sit down, swallowing the sigh of comfort that tries to slip free the moment his reassuring body heat seeps into me.
“What’s this?” I blurt, looking down at the huge, delicious-looking bowl of noodles in front of me.
“Ramen, with chicken, veggies, and a couple of boiled eggs. It’s not authentic, but it should taste good.”
My only experience with ramen is the kind that comes in a packet, with a sachet of powder to color the water and make it taste vaguely meaty. This is nothing like that.
“I have chopsticks if you want,” Warrick says after I’ve stared at the bowl for more than a minute.
“No, a fork is fine,” I say quickly, hurrying to pick it up and starting to eat.
It’s delicious. The broth is rich and tasty, the noodles are soft, the veggies are still crunchy, and the chicken is tender.
It’s the best ramen I’ve ever had in my life, and even as I’m enjoying it, I hate that it will inevitably ruin all of the cheap dollar store versions I’ll have in the future.
Before I realize it, my bowl is empty, and I’m so full my eyes are heavy. “Thank you, that was amazing,” I say tiredly.
“You’re welcome, amore mio. You look exhausted, though, so why don’t you go and take a nap? Then later I can introduce you to my brothers and their partners.”
A part of me wants to argue against being sent to take a nap like a child, but it’s impossible to deny that I’m exhausted; so bone-weary that even the idea of having to climb the stairs to my room feels like more than I can handle.
When I don’t attempt to move, he makes a soft sound of amusement, then pushes out of his seat and turns to face me. “Let me help, amore mio,” he coos, scooping me out of my chair and into his arms so effortlessly that I forget to protest.
I know I should tell him to put me down, but the warmth of his wide chest and his strong arms cocoon me, and before I remember to argue that I can walk, he’s lowering me onto the bed, pulling back the comforter and tucking me in like I’m a sleepy toddler.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, kissing my forehead again before he leaves, closing the door almost all the way behind him.
As my eyes drift shut, my mind fills with the thought that I want the next kiss he gives me to be on my lips.
I’m disoriented when I wake up, the unfamiliar comfort, bed, and room all adding to my sense of confusion. As I drift into wakefulness, the memory of Warrick carrying me up here fills my thoughts.
He picked me up like I was weightless, and instead of arguing, I think I might have snuggled into his massive arms. God, I’m a tease. He’s been nothing but sweet and polite to me, and I think I buried my face in his shirt and sniffed him.
I’m going to have to leave. There’s no way I can stay here when I’ve acted like a cat in heat. Embarrassment fills my cheeks, and I cover my face with my hands and groan at my own stupidity. Am I so desperate for human contact that I’ve twisted his platonic offer of friendship into something more?
Sitting up, I glance out of the window. The sun is low in the sky, but there’s no clock in here to tell me what time it is. Flipping back the comforter, I swing my feet to the floor, then lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees.
What is wrong with me? Why am I reacting to him? Why am I touching myself in his shower and craving his touch and affection when for my whole life so far, I’ve only ever wanted men to stay away from me?
Is it because he’s the first man I’ve spent any time with who was a gentleman?
When I was working at BJ’s, the men there coveted my body.
They wanted to corrupt the untouchable virgin, but they didn’t want me.
They didn’t even know my name. To them, I was just Cherry Pie. I was a novelty. I was a commodity.
I’m so unused to anyone seeing the real me that I’m twisting his offer of friendship into something else. Exhaling raggedly, I shake my head both literally and metaphorically. Warrick is a nice man who’s been kind enough to offer to help me when I so obviously need it.
He only sees me as a person in need, and he’s in a position to offer me assistance. Nothing more.
Resolved to stop interpreting his kindness as anything romantic, I push up to my feet, then head downstairs. My heart starts to beat wildly when I spot him spread languidly across the couch, the TV playing the hockey game.
“Good nap, amore mio?” he asks sweetly.
“I didn’t realize how tired I was,” I admit, sitting down as far away from him as I can get, at the opposite end of the couch.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“No, thank you. I’ve eaten more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the week prior,” I say without thought.
“You won’t ever go hungry again,” he growls, his expression dark and angry.
“Warrick, I just wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done for me. We don’t know each other, but you’ve gone out of your way to help me just because you can, and I really appreciate that.”
“This is your home now, amore mio. I’m not just helping you because you need it. I’m bringing you home because this is where you’re meant to be,” he says, his expression so earnest I don’t know how to respond.
Offering his hand out to me, I take it without thought and place my palm on his, entwining our fingers together, like holding his hand is the most natural thing in the world.
And it feels like it is. When his fingers curl around mine, my racing heart starts to slow, and his warmth begins to seep into me.
I’m not expecting it when he tugs me forward, so I let him move me.
I let him pull me half on top of him, and then I let him kiss me when his lips land on mine.
His tongue is in my mouth before I really become aware of the fact that Warrick is kissing me.
He’s kissing me, and I’m letting him.
He’s kissing me, and I’m letting him, and I’m kissing him back.
He’s kissing me, and I’m letting him, and I’m kissing him back, and I like it.
Our lips glide against each other as our tongues tangle together.
We’re kissing. I don’t remember the last time I was kissed.
Elementary school maybe, when I was young and na?ve enough to allow myself to have a crush.
When I had hope that whatever town Dad and I were living in would be where we’d stay.
But this is the first time I’ve been kissed by a man. This is the first time I’ve wanted to be kissed and wanted to kiss someone back.
“Oh fuck,” Warrick groans, pushing me off him until I’m on the other side of the couch, my lips wet from his kiss, my skin burning from his touch.
“I…” I start.