Page 52 of The Sharpest Edges

“You can always add more later,” she teases, surprising herself at her bold comment.

“I plan on it.”

They curl into each other, pulling up the covers and sharing dual yawns.

“I make real good french toast,” he says into the silence of the room, giving her a squeeze.

“I love french toast.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna make ya some in the morning.”

“With whipped cream and fruit?” she says hopefully.

“You got that stuff in your kitchen, right?” He gives her a bit of a side eye and she snorts into his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Then yes, all the fixings.” He bends to press a kiss to her forehead. “Damn, you smell good all the time. How do you do that?”

He sounds wistful and smitten, his words coated in post-orgasmic bliss. Ava’s pretty sure she doesn’t smell good right now, that the damp sheen of sweat they’d both worked up hadn’t done much for either of them in that department, butoddly enough she knows what he means. His pheromones curl into her nose and down into her lungs. He smells intoxicating and addicting, like a drug she can’t wait to take another hit of.

She has no response other than a tired ‘ditto’, and then they’re both drifting off.

She hopes that when they wake up, rested and refreshed, they can do this all over again before breakfast.

21

Chapter 21

Dean never thought he’d enjoy cuddling. He didn’t have much chance or reason to test it out when physical touch was to be avoided at all costs andextendedphysical touch sounded like torture.

The first time he was with a woman, he was terrified and quick, barely old enough to buy a beer for the pretty girl who sat down next to him and asked for one. She was forward and flirty, giving him full-blown smiles like they’d known each other for years. It was disarming.

He should have known that something was up when his lack of game didn’t turn her off, or when she didn’t shy away from his awkward, reflexive flinch when she reached for his dick. He was blinded by a sudden desire to conform to what society expected of him, to stop being such a fucking antisocial recluse and follow in his big brother’s footsteps when it came to women. The whiskey he drank helped dull his usual aversion, and her touch, all soft and encouraging, only spurred him on …but that disappeared the moment he’d finished.

He came into a condom. In a shitty motel room she led himback to, only a few thrusts after they’d begun and with half his clothes still on. She gave him a good-natured pat on the arm and a bored smile and shoved him off her before he could catch his breath.

He’d assumed he did something wrong, or that she regretted it, until the proud congratulations from Boone the next day confirmed everything he needed to know about that encounter. Everything he’d been too afraid to consider as truth until the proof was impossible to ignore.

He was nothing more than a job for her, and his brother arranged the whole thing.

No, he certainly didn’t cuddle with her.

Dean avoided letting anyone close for years afterward. He was content to ignore Boone’s ribbing about needing to get laid and simply jerk off to relieve the urge instead of seeking anyone out. It was a safer, acceptable way to live his life until he’d gotten drunk enough one night to give it another shot. Enough beer went a long way toward not giving a shit. Horniness helped him initiate this time, holding down the end of a different bar and buying a drink for a cute blonde with bright red lipstick. They both knew what was happening. No promises of something more were exchanged but no money was either when she followed him back to his truck.

Ten minutes later, she granted him a sweet kiss that he was too wasted to appreciate before leaving him alone in the cab, feeling hollow and having to call his damn brother to pick him up and drive him home. It was one of the few times he let his liquor get the best of him and he never heard the end of that.

That encounter was less scarring than the first, but no less empty, and he sure as hell didn’t cuddle with her either.

There has been no one else since.

Mostly, he didn’t care enough to try after those failed attempts. It was so much easier to keep everyone at arm’s length when getting too close meant exposing himself in all the ways he’s been most afraid of. So Dean accepted that what other people seemed to accomplish so easily wasn’t in the cards for him and he would remain alone for the rest of his sorry life.

And then he met Ava, and all he wants is to be close to her in every way she will have him.

A soft glow of morning light dances across a strip of bare skin where the sheet slipped off her shoulder. The warmth of her back presses into his chest, fine hairs dusting his face where he nuzzles at her neck. He is cuddling with her, and in a way, it is as intimate as everything else they’ve done in this bed, and for the first time in his life, he has no desire to pull away and find that coveted space he’s always needed.

“Morning.” She sounds sleep-drunk and lazy, hugging his arm between her breasts.

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