Page 37 of Pocketful of Shame

"I, uh…well –"

"See, that's the problem with the youth of today," Presley tutted, making the reporter's face turn a bright shade of pink. "It's all about convenience. Why read the book when you can watch the movie? That's it, right?" He shook his head in disgust. "Honestly, I'm embarrassed to be a product of the twenty-first century –"

Sketch banged his fist on top of the old the tv set, causing the screen to go blank. "You look good in the picture they have," he added, before disappearing inside the bathroom once more.

Frozen to the bed, I stared at the blank screen until my eyes began to burn. Then, because I was a masochistic human, I drew back the covers and climbed out of bed. I hobbled clumsily over to the bathroom door. The door was cracked open and I could see his towel on the floor where it had once been on his hips.Shit. Shit. Run, Romi. Go.

On this occasion, common sense did not prevail and I pushed the door inwards, feeling an abundance of emotions rally to life inside of me. I couldn’t hold it in a minute longer. I knew I couldn’t. "I really need to tell you something."

"Uh, I'm kinda naked here, Ro," Sketch called over his shoulder, giving me a wonderful view of his naked ass as he towel-dried his hair. His body was a combination of taut, golden skin and thick, corded muscle, marred only by the inked sleeves on his arms, the odd freckle, and the unusual T-shaped birthmark on his hipbone that I had always been weirdly drawn to. "Can you give me a minute?"

"No, it can't wait." I shook my head and exhaled a ragged breath. "I need to tell you somethingright now."

"Okay," he said slowly, looking over his shoulder. Stepping into a pair of white, tight-fitted boxers, he dragged them up his hips before turning to face me. "What's up?"

"I want the word, Sketch."

He frowned at me. "What word?"

"Sorry." I folded my arms across my chest. "I want the damn word, Sketch."

Chapter Twelve

Sketch

"I want the damn word, Sketch," Romi growled, eyes blazing. "You still haven't said the word, Sketch."

"Because it won't fix anything," I bit out. "It's a cop out."

"Maybe not for you –"

"And because I'm not a liar," I added quietly.

"What does that mean?"

I didn’t respond.

"God," she bit out, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "If you knew the half of what I wanted to say to you…"

I stiffened. "Then say it."

"You really want to have this conversation?"

"It's been two years in the making," I shot back, quickly shrugging on a pair of jeans so she couldn’t see how badly I was shaking. "And we're gonna be spending a lot more time together." I shrugged stiffly. "You might as well get it all off your chest."

"Fine," she snapped, and then she unleashed her fury. "You might not have used your fists on me, but you used your words." Her eyes narrowed as she spoke. "Your words cut me open and you enjoyed watching my insecurities bleed out. You savored my pain. Every time I bled out emotionally, you thrived on it."

"You're wrong. I didn’tenjoyany of it," I snapped, feeling cornered in this bathroom by the tiny girl blocking the doorway. "I was desperate. My brother was dead and you were the only one with answers. You wouldn’t talk. I did what I thought I had to do –"

"I wasinnocent!" she cried out, throwing her hands up. "You made my life a living hell for ten months. Even when I told you I didn’t do it, you kept on going. You wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’thear me. I was so scared, Sketch, so fucking scared, and you abandoned me. Made me feel dirty." Reaching up, she pushed her hands through her tangled hair. "Everyone in town turned against me, everyone at school, and that's fine. I could've handled that, but not you." Tears filled her eyes. "You were mybest friendin the whole world. How could you think I would do that to Chris? To you?"

"I fucked up," I hissed, dropping my hands to my sides, feeling completely unarmored. "I know that, okay? What else do you want me to say, dammit!"

"Iwantthe word, Sketch," she growled. "I want you to say it."

I blew out a pained breath, knowing exactly what she wanted from me. "I'm not ready to say it."

"Why the hell not?"

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