Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
Austin
MY SCARRED KNEE BOUNCED WITH spastic anticipation.
A chain-saw accident when I had been seventeen left it marred with visible scar tissue.
Would Elle discover those personal, hidden parts of me tonight?
I needed to know before I drove myself insane.
The only thing I knew for sure was what I needed—and it was her.
As much as I’d avoided it, I lit the damn fireplace. The flames before me raged as thick as the blood pooling in my dick while I waited for my girl to return. The time had arrived for me to pull out all the stops for her, just in case.
In several of her letters, Elle had mentioned her favorite singer, Jewel.
I’d snagged her record from a vinyl shop in downtown Chicago weeks ago.
“Who Will Save Your Soul” crackled from the record player nestled in the corner of my living room.
The buttery-smooth voice had made me feel closer to Elle when I wrote back.
Like I knew something about her that only her closest confidants did.
I shook my head, thankful that I no longer needed to do weird shit to feel closer to her because she was here, in my damn house, getting ready for me.
Placing another log in the fire, I overthought every detail of our kiss, our current situation, the truth I hid, and how in the world I would stop myself from diving into her when she came back into the room.
My resolve thinned by the second, challenging the mental strength I’d worked hard to build.
Not even a dusting of that resolve remained when Elle emerged from the hallway half an hour later in pajamas purchased from the Devil himself.
No fancy lingerie shop could design something so intriguing, as if there were secrets sewn into the material. Elle held the secrets to my goddamn soul.
The fabric wrapping Elle’s body was the opposite of what I’d consider winter wear. Instead, the silky sleep shorts and matching spaghetti-strap top, lined with lace and sex appeal, didn’t stand a chance at warming even the sun.
She rounded the couch, stepping closer to the warmth.
“Sorry I took so long. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting …” She froze before the fire. “Wait … is that Jewel I hear?”
Excitement lit up her face more than the nearby flames. Too bad I couldn’t focus long enough to form an answer. Unassuming shades of cream and baby pink complemented her skin and the absurdity that was her body.
Holy hell …
I wrapped my hand around the base of my neck, absorbing the intensity of the utter perfection overpowering my pulse.
There was no bra underneath the top that rose and fell with every breath she took. The outline of her small nipples penetrated the thinly stretched fabric. Dizziness delayed my response.
“Austin?”
“Yeah, I, um … I love Jewel. She’s my girl,” I lied without thinking.
The soul singer wasn’t my girl; Elle was. But looking at her while saying, “She’s my girl,” felt so damn good.
“I can’t believe this. I freaking love her!
‘Intuition’ single-handedly got me through my teeny-bopper phase.
She sounds especially smooth, coming from a record player.
I’ve never heard her voice that way. Nice touch, Chief Carterson.
” Her enthusiasm assured me she wasn’t fighting the moment.
She was enjoying it. Dare I say, enjoying me?
“I bet she’s your type. If I were into girls, she’d totally be mine.
She’s musically gifted and a badass philanthropist, all in one gorgeous package.
Must be nice to have it all …” The sparkle in her eyes told me she idolized the artist who had seemingly gotten her through many a middle-school heartbreak.
“She’s great, but, no, she’s not my type. She certainly doesn’t have it all,” I articulated confidently, aiming to dull the envy in her words. No way was I letting her think any other woman in the world had shit on her.
“Do you have a type?” she asked quizzically.
Is she testing the waters?
“Not exactly. I rely more on someone’s energy. Their vibes.”
“Well, what is your vibe then?” She stepped closer.
Electricity struck my stomach.
“You,” I whispered. “You’re my vibe, Elle.”