Page 71 of I Knew You Were Trouble

I snort, covering the bottom half of my face with the comforter to muffle the noise. “If I’d only known you weren’t such a bad boy, I might’ve searched elsewhere.”

“You don’t think I’m a guy who’s out to break all the rules, then?”

“Not all of them.” I turn on my side, using my arm as a pillow. “I’ll admit that I painted a version of you in my head. I figured you were rebelling against your parents by getting a full tattoo sleeve and buying a motorcycle. I thought you didn’t care about your job since you never tuck that shirt in or wear your hat all the time and bring people into the break room.”

“Geez, I’m so bad,” he teases.

“Shut up. To me, you were.”

“Were? Past tense?”

“That’s a past tense word, yes.”

“And now?” he prods. “You think of me that way?”

“A little.” Compared to me, he’s a downright rebel. “But I mean, you do care a lot about your job. You don’t rebel against your parents, that’s for sure. You’re basically providing for them. I took one look at you and assumed a lot… which sucks to admit, because people do that to me and I hate it.”

He turns to his side, and I see the outline of his head pop over the top of our pillow wall. He moves the top pillow down. “No one’s harder on you than you are.”

“I won’t even argue with you.”

He faux gasps. “Really? No rebuttal?”

“Not when you’re right.” I scoot a little closer but not enough to mean much other than adjusting positions. “You don’t scare me, Pete.”

“Huh?”

“You said you didn’t want to scare me.” I reach for the pillow between us and play with the corner. “You don’t.”

“Even now?”

“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ and grin. Doesn’t he get just how safe I feel with him? “I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if you scared me, silly.”

His breath takes on a much faster cadence, and I continue to pick at the corner of the pillow separating our heads.

“Wanna know a secret?” he says after a minute.

“Always.”

“I share your number one fear.”

I let out a laugh, and I feel him jerk back from the force of it. “Yeah right. You’re just trying to make me feel better about being a virgin.” He’s more than implied he’s not one; he’s flat out admitted to having sex. I recall teasing him about a one night stand he had about four months after knowing him.

“I’m serious, you butt.” He slides his hand across the pillow, and I feel tickle fingers crawl up my arm. I squirm away with a giggle.

“Okay!” I bat him away, even though I like his hand on me right now. “What scares you about sex?”

“Not sex,” he clarifies, tucking his hand under his head. He scoots closer—close enough I can feel his breath in the space between us. “Intimacy. I’m not good at getting close. Sharing stuff.”

“You invited me to Christmas,” I point out. “You told me about your parents, your family.”

“Yeah, and it scared the hell out of me to do it.”

“You hid it well.” I felt so at home with him, so comfortable. I hope he doesn’t regret sharing all of that with me. “Wait… areyouscared right now?” Lying next to me and chatting about sex and image and our fears seems pretty darn intimate. And I thought I was the one who would be freaking out, but I’m surprisingly calm.

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Terrified.”

Suddenly I understand the impact of what he’s saying. How the level of friendship we have is almost as intimate as sex to him, and a sweat breaks out across my skin. I shiver despite the rush of heat and curl into the sheets. Is he admitting feelings for me? Is he afraid to lie so close to me, worried he might overshare or expose himself emotionally?

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