Chapter 45
Verity yanked her sweatshirt on, trying and failing, not to notice that Reed looked even worse in the semi-bright light of day, his bruises more prominent. His messy hair was falling out of her hairband, and golden stubble scattered patchily across his cheeks and chin.
But it wasn’t how he looked that had her latent self-preserving instincts kicking in and her taking another step back.
It was how he looked at her.
Granted, she didn’t have a lot of sexual experience, but she had read plenty of steamy romance books, and it seemed to her that when lust bit into you, it did it with sharp teeth and razor-like claws.
But Reed wasn’t looking at her like he wanted to devour her in huge, greedy bites.
He looked at her like he wanted to savor her in gentle nibbles and long, languid sips.
And dear, sweet God, she wanted to let him.
If only so she could do some savoring of her own.
Luckily, Reed blinked then ducked his head for a moment. When he raised it again, all that hunger in his gaze was gone, replaced by the cool indifference he liked to pretend he had around her.
He sent her one of his stupid smirks—well, more like half a smirk, one that was seriously lacking its usual cockiness, what with his battered face and swollen lip, but give the boy credit for sticking to what he knew best.
But it seemed half-hearted. Like he was playing the part of an ass. One meant to get them back on even ground.
Except there was no even ground with Reed Walsh. No matter where she stood, she was unbalanced. No matter what steps she took, she stumbled.
Bending over, he reached for one of his shoes—which she saw now were a pair of worn-in leather work boots—and almost toppled off the bed.
She rushed over, but he was already straightening.
“I’ve got it,” he ground out quietly before she could help him.
No touching. Got it.
No more touching, she amended as she stepped back, giving him plenty of room to pick up his boot.
He’d obviously gotten his fill of her when she’d been plastered on top of him.
Her cheeks heated. Ugh. She’d climbed the boy like a tree, had been wrapped around him like a vine.
It was just one humiliation after another with him.
Embarrassment and regret swamped her. Put her in a full body sweat. She pinched the loose fabric between her breasts and tugged it away from her body, waving it, trying to create a cooling breeze.
Mistakes were made, okay?
At least she hadn’t kissed him.
And no, it didn’t matter that she’d wanted to. All that mattered was that she hadn’t.
Even if she had been about to let him kiss her.
But that was all in the past. Water under the bridge she was going to build herself so she could just get over it already.
Which was going to be much easier to do once the boy wasn’t in her room, on her bed, struggling to put his freaking boots on.
His jaw was tight, his face etched in pain as swiped up the boot. Winced as he tugged it on, then repeated the tight jaw, etched pain, wincing thing with the second boot.
She shifted as she waited. Crossed her arms. Uncrossed them.
But he didn’t tie them. Just slowly straightened, his breathing deep and careful, like someone trying their best not to puke.
What if he tripped on a lace and hurt himself even more? What if the boots flopped off his feet while he was walking? He’d never be able to bend over and get them back on from a standing position. What if he really did want her help, but was too stubborn to ask for it?
Great. Now her heart was trying to overthrow her hormones for the title of Dumb Decision Maker.
Well, it wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t her fault he was stubborn and emotionally ill-equipped to deal with whatever messed up thing was between them.
Reed was a big boy. He’d manage to get from her room to his truck and then wherever he went next without tying his boots. He’d survive.
But then he slowly stood, swaying slightly, grimacing mightily, and she couldn’t, in good conscience, let it go.
With a sigh and another eye roll, she stepped forward.
Then knelt at his feet.
She could feel his gaze on her. Sensed his surprise. She just chose to ignore them. Hey, she’d been ignoring her common sense and pride all summer. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
Eyes on the task at hand, she readjusted the tongue of his boots, tightened the laces, then wound the ends around the bottom two sets of eyelets before tying them in a neat bow.
Then double knotted them.
Just to be safe.
She was repeating those actions on the other boot when he spoke, his words a low, hesitant grumble as if he didn’t want to disturb this lovely little silence they had going on.
“When do you leave?”
“Usually the same time as Urban.”
Though today she’d have to make up an excuse as to why she was leaving later so she could make sure Reed got out without anyone seeing him.
Reed cleared his throat. “When do you leave Mount Laurel?”
Oh. That.
“Friday morning,” she said as she stood.
She’d wanted to wait until Saturday, the actual move-in day for the dorms, but Urban didn’t want to take a chance they’d miss her move-in time, so he and Willow were taking Friday off so the three of them could go a day early. Explore Ohio State’s campus and Columbus.
Where Urban would, she was sure, try to convince her of all the fun adventures she was going to have during the next four years away from her family and everything she’d ever known.
Realizing she was, once again, much too close to Reed Walsh—who had nothing to say now that she’d answered his question, no good luck or you’re going to do great or even goodbye—she crossed to her dresser and yanked open the middle drawer.
Seriously, heart. Get a freaking grip, already. The boy was not going to miss her.
It was easy enough to pick a pair of shorts for the day since there were only two in the drawer. Most of her clothes were already packed and ready to go to Ohio. Urban had pointed out that she didn’t need to take every item of clothing she owned considering OSU was only a few hours away and she’d be home in a few months for Fall break.
But she was already worried about… well… everything… about going away to school. She did not want to stress over possibly not having enough outfit choices.
Plus, she was hoping that the more things she had with her from home, the less homesick she’d be.
After picking out a bra and shirt, she shut the drawer. She’d get dressed in her closet instead of the bathroom in case Urban came back upstairs. But when she lifted her head, she saw Reed’s scowly reflection behind her in the mirror above her dresser and froze.
“Is this his?”
Frowning, she faced him, not liking his terse, grumbly tone. “What?”
“Is this his shirt? That guy who called you at the Vet’s parking lot? The one who called you babe?”
“It’s my shirt.” Which was, technically, true.
But Patrick had sent it to her.
And for some reason, she didn’t want Reed to know that.
“Is there a number on the back?” he asked, so quietly, so intensely, her throat went dry. “A name?”
“Yes,” she said, clutching her clothes to her chest.
His expression twitched, like he was struggling to contain some emotion he didn’t want to feel. Didn’t want her to see. “Whose?”
Again, she held back, which was ridiculous. She didn’t owe Reed anything. They weren’t together. Had never been together. She was free to talk to or date or hook up with any guy, as many guys, as she wanted.
She swallowed. “Patrick’s.”
“Did you pick it to fuck with me?”
She bristled, not liking his accusation. His assumption.
Really. How dare he?
“Hardly. I picked it because it’s the only one I haven’t packed that’s big enough to fit you. I had no idea you even knew what the Drillers were or that Patrick played for them.”
He flushed, his cheeks going pink with embarrassment and guilt.
“Or maybe you didn’t know,” she said slowly, her own suspicions mounting. “Did you look Patrick up online?”
Reed’s flush deepened. But his mouth stayed firmly shut.
Not that she needed verbal confirmation, what with him looking like he was so uncomfortable, he was itching to get out of his own skin.
Locking his gaze on hers, Reed reached behind his head and tore the shirt off like it had caught fire and was threatening to burn every strand of his glorious, golden locks. Then he balled it up and held it out to her.
“I’m not wearing your boyfriend’s shirt,” he said, his tone tinged with bitterness.
And jealousy.
Don’t say it, she warned herself as she took the shirt and added it to the pile of clothes in her arms. You don’t owe him anything, remember? Do. Not. Say. It.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
She smashed her lips together before she said something else she shouldn’t.
“But you’re talking to him, right?”
“Wasn’t that what you wanted? For me to go out with other guys? To hook up with them?”
It was what he’d told her that night at the lake, one of the things he’d said that had eviscerated her.
He flinched again, but this time she knew it wasn’t from his physical pain.
But he didn’t get to act the injured party here. This was his choice. Everything that had happened between them this summer had been his choice.
He had no right to act hurt or jealous or angry now that she was making some choices of her own.
Reed stepped closer, jaw tight, gaze hooded. “You fucking him, princess?”
He’d asked her something similar that night at the lake, too. If she’d hooked up with one of the guys they’d gone to school with. Had practically begged her to tell him she’d been with someone else so he could pretend he didn’t have feelings for her himself.
Jerk.
“I see your obsession with my sex life continues.” She wrinkled her nose at him in faux concern. “Might want to work on getting over that.”
She turned and stomped over to her closet, her head held high.
“I can’t,” he whispered, stopping her mid-swing as she yanked her closet door open.
Two little words that shouldn’t mean much. Didn’t mean much, not in the grand scheme of things.
Except for the way he’d said them, raw and guttural, like they were his deepest, darkest secret that had been ripped from his very soul.
Her hand tightened on the doorknob. Her heart was going all pitter pat crazy, her stomach was swooping, like she was on the roller coaster ride of her life.
Except, she didn’t want this kind of excitement. Didn’t want all these twists and turns that made her dizzy. Didn’t want the ups and downs that left her reeling. She wanted steadiness. Stillness. Safety.
And she’d only get those things once she got off this freaking ride.
Facing him, she tossed her clothes aside, all the better to slam one hand on her hip and jab the pointer finger of her other hand in his direction. “Do not. Say. Another. Word.”
Yeah, it was slightly ironic, demanding his silence when she usually wanted any and all his words.
These were confusing times, indeed.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted softly.
The hand she was holding up began to tremble, so she curled her fingers and lowered it to her other hip. “No.”
“I told myself that if you were with another guy, I could forget about you,” he continued as he slowly, methodically walked toward her, persistent and ruthless in his quest to break her for good. For every step he took forward, she took one back. “That the thought of someone else touching you would make me not want you, but that hasn’t happened.”
“No,” she repeated, but instead of the firm, resolute tone she was going for, it came out shaky and hesitant.
Not that it mattered. He just kept right on with his stalking, moving steadily closer until her back hit the wall. He stepped in closer, so close, she felt the heat from his body. Smelled the scent of him and who knew that soap and sweat could be so enticing?
“Instead, I want to replace their touch with my own,” he murmured, his gaze trailing over her features, as if committing them to memory. “I want to erase theirs from your memory until all you can remember is mine. My hands. My mouth. My tongue.”
She shivered, a full body tremble that originated low in her belly. Tugged between her legs. Shaking her head, she pressed back even farther, as if she could escape the pull of his words, the neediness they created inside her by becoming one with the wall. “No.”
But, this time, it was barely a whisper.
He edged in closer. Lifted his hand to her face, his scabbed over knuckles proof of how powerful he was. How dangerous he could be. But when he trailed his fingertips from her temple down her cheek, his touch was unbelievably gentle. Almost… reverent.
And so all-consuming she almost didn’t notice when his other hand settled on her hip, his fingers immediately sliding beneath the hem of her sweatshirt.
Almost.
But now that it was there, her focus narrowed in on the press of his fingertips against her skin. The roughness of them. The way they moved back and forth, as if, now that he’d given himself permission to touch her, he couldn’t get enough of her. How they were slowly, slowly drawing her closer and closer to him.
It was that realization that had her lifting her hands to his chest. He immediately stilled, his fingers at her hip curling around her waist. His hand on her face drifting to her bare shoulder, the tips of his fingers wrapping around the strap of her tank top. Holding on.
Waiting for her to push him away.
She meant to. She really did. But the moment she touched his bare chest, her thoughts went wobbly. Her intentions dissolved. His skin was hot and smooth. The muscles of his pecs hard.
But it was the quick, unsteady beat of his heart that had her flattening her hand against him. Absorbing that beat into her palm.
Knowing it matched her own.
He exhaled, a soft, relieved breath, that hand on her hip once more drawing her closer. “You’re in my head,” he told her, his voice a low, warm rumble that stroked across her skin. “All the time. Every fucking day. Every goddamn night.” He unwound his fingers from her tank top strap. Slid that hand to cup her throat, the pad of his thumb brushing the rapidly beating pulse under her jaw. “I dream about you, princess.”
She shut her eyes against his whispered words.
His most dangerous confession of all.
Her blood surged through her, hot and heavy. But it was all a lie. Oh, she didn’t doubt he wanted her. The pull between them was obvious.
Obvious and completely physical.
No, what she didn’t believe was everything else.
Refused to believe after everything he’d said before it.
After what he did.
Opening her eyes, she dropped her hands from his chest. “So, you don’t want any other boy to touch me? I’m just supposed to sit around, keeping my virginity firmly intact until you decide that I’m worth your time and attention after all? Oh, and while I’m waiting and pining for you, living like a nun, it’s okay for you to hook up with as many other girls as you like? Do I have that right?”
He frowned. Shook his head. “No.”
She snorted. “I know you were with McKenna. At the lake. She posted a picture of you two on Instagram. I told you I liked you and the next night you screwed someone else.”
His head went back, that guilty flush returning, brighter than before.
When he stayed silent, she shrugged his hand off her shoulder. Twisted her hip out of his hold. “Tell me, did you do it to prove how much you didn’t want me? Or just to hurt me?”
His mouth thinned, but his gaze stayed on hers, watchful and steady and full of something she refused to believe was shame.
Or remorse.
“You can’t keep doing this.” And oh, how she hated the way her voice shook. That he was seeing exactly how much he’d hurt her. “You can’t keep tugging me toward you only to push me away when I get too close. And I can’t keep letting you.”
He blew out a breath, one that seemed as unsteady as her voice had been. “Princess,” he said, low and gravely and in an entreating, tender tone he’d never, not once before, used when calling her that, “I—”
“Verity!” Urban called, pounding on the door.
She jumped, her heart leaping to her throat, but she didn’t take her eyes off the boy in front of her. Couldn’t help wanting to know what he’d been about to say.
Even as she promised herself no matter what it was, it wouldn’t change anything.
“I’ll be down in a minute!” she told her brother.
He jiggled the handle. “Unlock the door.”
“I—”
“Open the goddamn door,” another voice demanded. “Now.”
She groaned. Great. Miles was here.
He sometimes showed up for coffee after working a night shift. Or before starting a day one.
“One minute,” she called, shooting for a light, I’m just a silly, teenaged girl who definitely did not sneak a boy into her bedroom last night and isn’t, right this moment, wondering whether it’d be better for her to shove him in the closet, under the bed or out the window tone.
“Don’t make me break down the door,” Miles warned.
“Jeez. Dramatic, much?”
“Or we could use the key,” Urban pointed out dryly.
Crap.
The window it was.
Before she could mime her plan to Reed, he turned. The dogs trotted behind him across the room.
Straight toward the door.
Lunging after him, she grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?” she mouthed, eyes wide in case he did not grasp the precariousness of the situation they were in.
But he, like all the other males in her life, ignored her.
And reached with his free hand to open the door.