Page 59 of Every Move You Make

“No. Tell me, darlin’.”

She takes a long moment to close her eyes and swallow. “I just want to be held for a little while. I… I just want to be touched without the threat of sex,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

“Oh, honey,” I sigh and pull her into my chest, being mindful of her injured hand. Her head rests in the cradle of my neck and instantly her body relaxes into me.

“Thank you, Dell.”

“Please don’t thank me,” I murmur into the top of her head. I brush my thumb along her nape of her neck. “I should have never…”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. It didn’t really sink in until we were driving here that I used you like a pawn tonight. I knew he would be there, and I tried to make Isaiah jealous so he’d make a move for you. I got so caught up in him and you; I didn’t think it through. I should have talked with you about it beforehand.”

Robyn is quiet as her breath fans over my collarbone, but she doesn’t let go of our embrace. “You knew he’d be there tonight?”

“Yes. I told him I was taking you out.”

“For a dating lesson?” she asks tentatively.

I know where her mind is going. It’s barreling toward the same inevitable destination mine is. The lines of professionalism are too blurry, and I’m too far gone for this girl to keep it locked up anymore. “No. I didn’t tell him it was a dating lesson. I should have never let you dance with someone else, and I don’t want to be your dating coach. I just want you.”

She doesn’t respond right away and I’m thankful. I’m glad my declaration is being met with consideration. In silence, we stand in the middle of her kitchen listening to the drumming in our hearts and the cadence of our breathing—the warmth of our bodies soothing the nerves that shot through our bodies like gunfire.

This kind of disgusting behavior that Robyn has experienced at the clubs is unacceptable. First, that guy who tried kissing her when she didn’t want it, then the second douchebag tonight who learned the hard way that no means no. And those were just the times I was with her. This woman in my arms deserves to let herself be free and silly—to wear what she wants and dance how she wants without creeps like them clouding her sunshine.

When Robyn’s hand slides down my back and squeezes my waist, a little more of her warmth seeps in like good liquor and calms me.

She’s okay. She’s right here.

“Dell?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know where to go from here.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, her face still cradled into my neck.

“I like you. I have for a long time. And I’m really sorry if this complicates things—”

My heart beats wildly and I can’t breathe for a moment, but I tell her the truth. “I’m not sorry, Robyn.” Gently, I take her bobby pins out and release her bun, finger-combing her long silky hair and massaging her head.

It’s the truth. I’m not sorry this complicates things. I’m so tired of burying my feelings for her. For him. I’m the kind of man who dives in head-first and asks questions later. It hasdone nothing but gut me to ignore what my heart wants.

I haven’t felt this kind of attraction to anyone since Travis. It’s the kind of attraction that is so much deeper than their bodies. The kind that makes me yearn to make them laugh and keep them safe. To provide and care for them.

All the people I’ve slept with since Travis have meant nothing. Purely physical attraction. And when they got attached, I cut them loose. But these two? These two have figured out a secret code I wasn’t even aware I had. A code that could unlock a certain part of me that’s been hiding in the shadows for too long.

But there’s something more pressing I need to tell her. Something that will show Robyn just how comfortable I am with our complicated reality, and just how long I’ve known that I want her.

“Can I admit something to you?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“Let's go sit on the couch first.”

Stepping into her sunken living room, we climb into her plush sectional, the street lights gleaming through the front windows. When I have her settled on my lap, her back against the arm of the couch and her long legs spread over the cushions next to me, I admit the truth that I’ve kept from her.

“I remember you, Robyn. We met four years ago at Pride.” Her hazel eyes search mine as her jaw drops the tiniest bit. “You were wearing this dress,” I say, my fingertip tracing the bowtie strap over her shoulder. “And I thought you were the prettiest thing I had ever seen. I felt like I had been struck by lightning when you smiled back at me.” A bemused smile adorns her face. “Yeah, like that. I invited you to a barbeque and you said you were on your way to see your boyfriend,” I shrug.

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