Page 147 of Trust Me Always

Shit.

Fuck.

He’s going to tell her how he feels.

He’s going to tell her how he feels, and she’s going to listen with rapt attention because, at the end of the day, all she’s been searching for in this little lie of ours is a soft landing on a bed of truths.

Trust and tenderness.

She was waiting for her mind to clear so she could come to terms with how she feels under the pain and anger, and it’s easy to see there are no longer any clouds hanging over her head. No, the sky is clear and blue now.

She said it herself—she no longer thinks he intended to hurt her.

But he’s not ready for a girl like her. She needs a man with confidence and a secure hand to hold.

I want to be that man.

I want to hold her hand in public, and I want to mean it. I want to kiss her when no one is watching and give her more than I’ve ever given anyone.

I want to take her like I’ve taken no other, giving her a part of me no one else has ever had.

I want her to be my first.

“Bro, whoa, slow the fuck down,” I mumble, letting go of the door handle and running my hand through my hair.

But I can’t. Last night changed things. She didn’t try to hide her desire—she leaned into it, crawled on my lap like she’s done a hundred times, but without an ounce of the innocence the move has held in the past. No, she knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t shy about taking it.

And fuck me, I was ready to give.

I’ve never ever wanted to say fuck it so bad in my life and just roll on top of her.

She was sweet and soft and delicious.

She sounded like sin and she tasted like mine.

Goddamn it.

I sigh, shaking my head.

“What are you hiding from, Son?”

My eyes fly open, and I spin around, spotting my dad coming up the walkway. There must be a question on my face because he hooks his thumb over his shoulder.

“I was having coffee with Bill.” He points to where Chase’s dad waves from his porch. “Poor guy’s got a lot to work out.”

I lift a hand and wave back, watching as he disappears inside. “What do you mean?”

My dad presses his lips together. “Let’s not get distracted, hmm?” He comes up and grips my shoulder. “You got a lot on your mind,” he says, reading me as he’s always been able to.

I nod, looking across the yard toward Cameron’s childhood bedroom window. “She, uh, snuck up on me.”

“The good ones always do.”

Tension tugs in my stomach, and my hazel eyes lock on my father’s blue ones. “What if she doesn’t understand?” I don’t have to break it down—my parents know what I want out of life.

“Come on now,” he begins, opening the front door and easing me inside. We pause in the entryway, our eyes called to the back sliding door. The curtains are tied back, Cameron and my mama sitting there in the early morning sun, blankets wrapped around them both.

Cameron says something, and I can only imagine what it was as, in the next second, my mom leans forward to smack her on the knee.

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