Chapter 15 #2
I shake my head, wiping my face on my sleeve.
He hands me a roll of bathroom tissue. “You sure? I’m a great listener.”
I’m tempted to test that theory. Guys hate when girls cry, and this is the perfect opportunity to send him away. “You’re not scared off by crying?”
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “It makes me feel useful for once in my life,” he says, crossing his long legs in front of him, as though he’s planning to stay awhile.
That only makes more tears spring to my eyes. He rips off a piece of tissue and hands it to me.
“I ruin everything I love.” I blow my nose loudly. If my tears don’t scare him away, maybe my emotional outpour will.
“Not true.” His hand continues lazily stroking my back, warm through my shirt.
“You wouldn’t know.”
“Then tell me.”
So I do. “Nate changed after our wedding. We weren’t together very long before getting married, but afterwards . . . He was different.”
I feel Rhett stiffen beside me. “That’s on him, not you.”
“There’s more.” A lot more. “You asked if I have animals? I did.” I nod vigorously. “I rescued a dog once—Charlie—and he was the best dog ever. I had him for two weeks, then he got sick and died. There was nothing the vet could do.”
“God, Saylor,” he says quietly. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“My best friend moved away. We did everything together before that—and I mean everything. I thought we wanted the same things from life, but one day she announced she was moving away to some godforsaken town to live the life of her dreams. Now we hardly speak, and she’s happier than I’ve ever seen her before. ”
“But what does that have to do with you?” Rhett quietly presses.
I risk a glance at him, turning my tear-streaked face toward him. “I was holding her back.”
He tugs me against him—just tucks me into his shoulder like I belong there. And for a second, I let myself believe that I do. “Of course you weren’t.”
“My parents . . .” I stop, because complaining about my parents to Rhett feels especially cruel. My parents are amazing, and they devoted their entire lives to me. He hasn’t spoken to his dad in years.
His fingers rub circles over my arm. “What about them?” he says.
“They’ve always dreamed of traveling. Even when I was little, it was all they talked about.
They loved me, of course, but we never had enough money, so they lived the dream by talking about it.
” I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to go on.
“Now they’re finally able to travel, but they’re too old to do the things they dreamed of doing all those years. ”
He tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him again. “Again, what does that have to do with you?”
I shrug, but it gets lost in his embrace. “They could’ve gone sooner if they hadn’t had me.”
Rhett sighs and grabs the back of my head, pulling me into his chest. “Your theory is ridiculous.”
It isn’t, but his scent is too intoxicating to form coherent thoughts. He smells of leather and those peppermint toothpicks he’s always chewing. I want to spend the rest of my life here, just curled up in Rhett Cole’s arms, breathing him in and letting him scare away the monsters in my closet.
The moment is sweet, him comforting me, but we both sense the second it changes.
Electricity crackles through the air, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we are.
His mouth is mere inches from mine, and, as if he’s just come to the same realization, he draws back slightly, his eyes flicking down to my lips, then back up to my eyes.
My body doesn’t care about the game, and neither does my heart. They gang up on my brain, which is desperately trying to keep us from imploding. My lips part in invitation, and Rhett doesn’t hesitate. His mouth is on mine immediately.
Kissing Rhett is like listening to the greatest hits of all time.
He’s both soft and hard, his hands both soothing and searching, his mouth giving and taking.
He still has a hand wrapped around my waist, and he uses it to pull me closer, until I’m practically in his lap.
With the other, he cradles my face in that way I’ve started to dream about.
His fingers press into my skin as though he can’t get enough of me.
The hand on my cheek slides lower until it’s wrapped around my throat, not tightly, but in a way that makes moisture dampen my thighs.
My own fists are clenched in the soft fabric of his T-shirt, with no intention of letting go in this millennium.
He breaks the kiss long enough to whisper, “God, you’re fucking beautiful” and move his mouth to my neck. The hand on my waist skims over my thigh, then finds the source of my heat. His fingers drag back and forth over the denim of my jeans, making desire flash hot down there.
I groan as he reaches for the zipper of my pants, and that tiny movement is enough to break the trance.
What are we doing?
I scramble away from him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Rhett looks resigned, as though he should have expected this. “I’m sorry,” he says.
I shake my head. “We can’t,” I whisper. Even after three years, one conversation with Timie still makes me cry. If I fall for Rhett, our inevitable breakup will be a million times worse.