Page 64 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I'll just need a little time to cry it out.

I give another nod and we fall into awkward silence. I'm a bobblehead doll with a vocabulary of gestures instead of words, apparently. My mind is already planning my retreat. I'll flee to my apartment, collapse on the couch, wrap myself in blankets, and mourn this false start before it even began.

I can at least give myself credit for trying. A little tiny step that means something.

I smile to myself, feeling proud, then I glance up at Sean. His brows crease slightly like he's wondering why I look happy. My little odd smile makes him relax and he smiles back.

"I liked spending that time with you," he says. "At book club."

God, he's so cute.

"I liked it too."

We observe each other in this moment of mutual confession, smiling softly to ourselves.

"I've already gone through ten of your books, you know," he adds. "I don't think you can catch up."

My smile widens as I feel some of the awkwardness between us crack. "Are you actually not working and just reading books?"

His laugh—god, his laugh—ripples through the air and into my body, settling low in my belly and stoking my desire. I feel a slight uneasiness because I forgot what it's like to feel, well, wet when a man is just a few inches away. But it's not like heknowsabout it.

Just my secret.

"I'm a fast reader," he says with a hint of pride.

I sway a little closer to him. "You should teach me then. So I can catch up."

"Teach you to speed read, huh?" His brown eyes, with so many layers of earth hues, crinkle at the corners and he also sways a little closer. "Are these private lessons?"

I'm one hundred percent certain he's flirting now, and I love it. Flirtation with chemistry. I'vedefinitelymissed this delicious energy. "We can turn off the cameras," I suggest, my voice surprisingly steady despite the rapid-fire pulsing of my heart.

Sean rubs his tongue along his teeth. His gaze drops briefly to my mouth. I move closer, drawn by the intoxicating hum between us. This feeling is pure nirvana.

I want more of this.

"I don't think teaching you to speed read was part of my contract," he says. "We'll have to amend it."

"Then let's amend it." My voice drops lower, more intimate. "All those books aren't going to read themselves, right?"

A daring impulse takes control, and before I can second-guess myself, I'm reaching up slowly toward his hair. I give him plenty of time to move away. He doesn't. He simply waits, eyes fixed on mine, as my fingers make contact with those electric blue spikes.

I smooth some of them down, revealing what his actual cut would be. "I wondered if you had bangs." My fingers float through surprisingly soft strands. "I like bangs. They look nice."

He smirks, and the expression does dangerous things to my stability. "That's how I used to style my hair."

"You should have it like that again," I say, fingers still lightly brushing his hair, marveling at my own boldness. I'm not panicking or shrinking away from being so close to a man.

Have I finally, finally, begun to reclaim myself?

There's a suspended moment between us. A fragile bubble of possibility where time seems to stretch and contract all at once. Our eyes lock, and I check in with my body just like my therapist taught me. No alarm bells. No cold sweat. No urge to flee. Just this delicious, heated awareness that makes my skin feel more alive than ever.

What if he kisses me?

He's definitely flirting. Those subtle looks, that playful tone. But I need a final confirmation, some undeniable evidence that this isn't just my imagination running wild.

My palm moves from his hair to rest lightly against the center of his chest. I can feel the hard curve of his pecs and his heartbeat through the cotton of his t-shirt. His pulse is a steady, strong drum that somehow beats into me and fills me with a sense of peace.

I'm in control.

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