Stephanie
TWENTY-EIGHT
Be unapologetically you. If they don’t like it, they were never your people anyway.
My plan, if you can call it that, is not working.
He seems as unaffected by me as ever, making me question if I imagined it.
I lift my head from the sink as I brush my teeth, catching the shower glass in the mirror.
I can’t see it, but I know if I steam this place up nice and thick, that handprint will be there.
I have questioned my reality a time or two over the years. It’s only natural when you’ve come so close to the edge. But the evidence of his feelings for me is right there, invisible as it is right now. Maybe I need to continue to push him, to make him face them.
I’m aware I’m not the poster child for patience.
I never have been. But I do make up for it in determination.
You’d think those traits would work opposite to each other, and for many, that’s true.
People once told me I wouldn’t be able to play the piano to a decent level in less than two years.
I didn’t have the patience to wait that long, but I did have the determination to make it happen faster, so I was at the expected level within six months.
Was it hard work? Sure. But it was also satisfying to prove them wrong.
So deciding to make this man unravel in the shortest time possible is not the hardest thing I’ve faced. What I lack in experience, which is a lot, I make up for in bystander reader knowledge in droves.
I glance down at the shirt I pilfered from his closet and twist my lips to the side. If the shirt didn’t do it, maybe I need to take it to the next level. A slow, wicked grin takes over my face as an idea forms.
Thank you, romance writers everywhere, for your endless research and knowledge application. Know I am only using these sacred secrets to bring a grown man to his knees. Over and over again, naked, kissing me everywhere.
My skin flushes, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m once again riffling through his clothes. I grab what I need and don’t think to question anything, because bringing reason to the mix is not going to give me action.
I stride into the sitting room where I find him lounging on the sofa with his laptop balanced on his bent knees and a cold beer in his hand.
He casts a cursory look over my legs and raises a brow. Oh, what I’d give to see inside your mind, James Austin.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed a few other things,” I start, staying firmly six feet away so I can give him the full show he’s unaware I’m planning.
He shrugs. “Sure, anything you want. What’s mine is yours.”
A little dramatic, but said with the laziest of attention. “Great, because I can’t sleep in panties like this.”
He nods along as he focuses on his laptop and ignores me. “Understandable.”
I steel myself as I hook my fingers into the top of my panties, making sure I remain covered. No need to be crude—imagination is a powerful thing. I slide them down, not brave enough to meet his eyes or wilt under his inattention.
There’s an audible inhale of air that’s not from me as I drop them on the floor and snap open his boxer briefs before stepping into them. He chokes on air, proving I’m not wrong. Thank goodness for that, because I was starting to doubt everything. That’s my impatience back in full force.
I shimmy into his underwear, making sure to keep everything artfully covered.
Then I stand straight and pat my hips. “Perfect fit. So much more comfortable.” I meet his eyes, finding them almost unreadable, which is a problem.
He needs to give me more than a gasp and that deep, rumbly tone that does wicked things to my insides.
“You’re wearing my underwear,” he mutters as his eyes range from my legs to my chest. “And my shirt.”
“It’s either that or sleep naked,” I say with a shrug that belies the way I’m feeling. “Now, what snacks do we have? I’m more awake than I realized, so I was thinking about a Scream marathon, or maybe Twilight.”
I stride into the kitchen.
“We just ate,” he calls out.
And I just brushed my teeth with the intention of heading to bed with nothing but a good book for company, but here we are. “Ah, that was my real food belly. This is my snack belly. They’re two entirely different beasts.”
“That’s not a thing,” he grumbles as he abandons whatever he was doing in favor of following me.
“I didn’t realize you were an expert on anatomy.”
“I’m not, but it’s basic biology.”
Look at him taking the bait like a good boy. “Really? So you’re an expert on basic biology?”
“Basic is the exact opposite of expert.”
“You know, I was more of a chemistry girl. I find the different ways a molecule reacts under differing conditions fascinating.”
As expected, I find a drawer full of the stuff that’s really bad for you, and each one of them I love. He’s practically screaming his attraction and care for me in these silent acts.
“Like what?”
He got M&M’s? Marry me now. I pile the snacks onto the countertop and fish out some bowls to pour them into. “Oh, you know, the way water is a liquid and turns to a solid in cold temperatures but disperses as steam under heat.” I grab two sodas to finish the snack tray off.
“Yeah, that’s interesting for sure.”
There’s a small hitch in his voice which I’m thoroughly enjoying.
“Right? Footprints in the snow, ripples in the lake, and handprints on the glass all prove someone was there.”
He blinks. I’m having the time of my life. I don’t know why I thought I needed the outside world when all my joy could be found right here, getting under the skin of this man.
“So are we venturing into the world of teen horror, or vampire teen drama?”
“Not the vampires,” he groans. “Never the vampires.”
Is The Vampire Diaries streaming? It would give me access to days, if not weeks, of torture material.
The thought of being here with him for an extended period doesn’t fill me with dread, even though I fought hard to get out of a restricted environment.
It doesn’t make sense, but maybe it’s the company.
He grabs the tray laden with snacks and carries it into the sitting room with an air of defeat.
I trail behind him and wait for him to take a seat so I can position myself perfectly.
He drops his ass into the center of the central part of the sofa, so I join him, getting cosy in one corner.
I could sidle up next to him, but I don’t want it to be too obvious.
He pulls up the streaming service and locates the first Scream movie with ease.
“You like those movies too?” I check.
He glances over at me, eyes briefly falling to my bare legs as I tuck them under my butt and reach for a handful of M&M’s. “They are so bad—”
“—that they are good,” I reply with a grin. “Look at that. We have the same guilty pleasure.”
He studies me for a heartbeat before picking up his laptop and engrossing himself in whatever needs his attention. He huffs a laugh as one of the girls makes a fatal and mistake, which costs her her life.
“Something funny, Austin?” I taunt.
He shakes his head. “They’re living and breathing a nightmare situation with an insane serial killer on the loose, and they still insist on doing shit on their own like they’re invincible.”
“The power of youth that hasn’t been touched by evil is enormous,” I tell him.
He might never have known that perceived safety we enter the world with using the proverbial rose-tinted glasses, but I have, and the jolt to the reality of evil stalking the brightest of corridors and the lightest of rooms is jarring at best and soul destroying at worst. “We all make stupid decisions under the belief that people don’t harbor ill intent. ”
“That’s not reality.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“I hate that you do.”
My eyes flutter closed for a moment as I fight with the memories and hold on to the reality around me. I flick my eyes open and grit my teeth.
Five things I can see. The wood grain of the beams overhead. The condensation on the glass. The shaggy rug in front of the TV. The candlestick.
Four things I can touch. The soft pillow beside me. The cool cotton throw I’ve curled my feet under. The rim of the glass. A soft curl of my hair.
Three things I can hear. The crackle of the fire. The steady breathing of the man next to me. The hum of the refrigerator.
Two things I can smell. The burning wood. The washing powder clinging to James’s shirt.
And finally, one thing I can taste. I want to taste him. I lick my lips, settling for the lingering minty taste from the toothpaste.
The whole time, he doesn’t push or interrupt, and shows patience most men will never learn in a lifetime.
I drag in a breath, grounding myself in the here and now, pushing the nightmares away.
“You okay?” James asks.
“I am.” It’s the truth, because I am okay. I might not be fabulous or living my best life, but I am okay.
“Have you taken a painkiller?”
I hear orgasms are good for natural pain relief. Maybe he’ll oblige? “Not yet.”
He puts his laptop on the table next to the snacks, disappears into the kitchen, and returns with the pill bottles and a glass of water. He shakes them both. “Don’t forget your antibiotics, too.”
“I hardly think they’re needed.”
He quirks a brow. “You want to risk needing a hospital?”
“It’s a graze and bruised ribs. I’m hardly on death’s door.”
He crouches next to me and tilts his head. “You need to take your medication, Stephanie.” His rumbly voice lures me into his orbit.
“I need my wits about me, and I can’t do that medicated.”
“You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”
I hold my hand out and press my lips together. He tips one of each into my palm, and I shove them into my mouth and down the entire glass of water.
“Good girl.” He stalks away, victorious.
I watch him go before resting my head back on the sofa to watch the last of the movie. But one thought keeps circling my mind, over and over again. I don’t want to be safe with him. Not in the way my past demanded, but in the way my future deserves. I want to trust him with my desire.
First, I have to convince him that I am not a breakable doll.
It took me a long time to realize my strength because everyone around insisted on treating me as if I were fragile.
For years, I believed them. Not anymore.
Now, I want to be wanted. I want to be looked at the way James looks at me when he forgets to hide it.
I want to be kissed like I’m something precious.
I want to be challenged.
Cherished.
Unravelled.
I’ll chip away at his walls one brick at a time until he’s standing beside me instead of hiding behind them.
Maybe then he’ll see himself the way I do.
Not as the villain. Not as the hero. Just James.
The man who chose me before he even knew me.
The man who buys my favorite snacks and adds more nail polish than sense into a basket without blinking.
He’s the guy who stocked a lodge he was never intending to share with strawberry shampoo and books because somewhere deep down, he hoped I’d need them.
The man who still believes he isn’t worth loving.
He’s busy trying to save me. He doesn’t realize I’m trying to save him too.