Page 103 of No Saint
Her gaze met mine, and damn if that soft look in her eyes didn’t make me feel loved. “This?” She rested her head on my shoulder. Her fingers swept the inside of my wrist. “Whateverthisis.”
“Peace.” It was peace. I put my arm around her and pulled her closer to my side. “All yours now.” Because I loved her in a way that didn’t seem real. That all-consuming love people say doesn’t exist outside of bullshit Hollywood movies and books. Something I felt without trying. Something I’d felt even when I tried, to my own detriment, not to. I hadn’t told her I loved her since the night I’d slammed back a bottle of whiskey, and while the urge was clawing at my insides, there was still a part of me that was hesitant. Afraid to give myself over. I drew in a breath, telling myself to blurt out the damn words, but before I could, she pointed at the sky.
“Look, it’s the drunk sloth.” She traced the pattern of stars with her finger.
Back in high school, Jade had gone through an astronomy phase, and we’d lie on the roof of Dad’s trailer, stargazing. None of the constellations made sense to me. They all looked like random patterns, but it made her happy. Once, I’d pointed out a cluster of stars I thought looked like a football. Jade started referring to it as Wilson. Every time we’d find a pattern, we’d make up a name for it. It was stupid, probably, but those nights felt like they belonged to us. Like the rest of the world didn’t exist. All the pressures of school and home-life, and all the bullshit seemed to disappear. “I still say it looks more like an anteater.”
“An anteater with no nose? You realize that isliterallythe key feature of an anteater.”
“It has a nose.” I pointed at the cluster of stars that looked just like a damn nose. “Right there.”
“That’s the sloth’s arm.”
“You see an arm, I see a nose.”
“You sure you haven’t had too many head injuries on the field?” She waved a hand in front of my face. “Maybe your eyesight is going.”
“My eyesight is just fine, thank you.” I lay back on the worn wood and pulled her down beside me. “It’s a nose.”
Jade rested her head on my bicep and slid her palm beneath my shirt, absentmindedly drawing circles over my stomach. Such a simple, almost innocent touch, but God, did it feel good. That touch wasn’t about sex. It was affection, love…electrifying and soothing all at once. Something that made me feel grounded, wanted, needed. I wasn’t sure how I’d made it a year and a half without this. Without her.
I held her close to me and pressed my lips to the top of her head, soaking up the moment. The peacefulness of the pond, the feel of her breathing against me, the coconut scent of her hair. Not that long ago, I thought I’d never have this again. That everything between us had been burned to shit. But there we were, in each other’s arms.
I pointed out another pattern. “Remember what we named that one?”
“Ursa Nike. I still say it’s a tick, though.”
“You’re crazy. That is one hundred percent a swoosh.”
She huffed out a laugh. “How many concussions have you had now?”
“Five. But I was saying it was a swoosh at two. Seriously, that is a smooth curve.” I rolled onto my side and swept my hand over the dip from her waist to her hip. “Just like this. Smooth as shit.”
“Now who’s smooth?” She leaned over me, half rolling onto my chest. “Still a tick.”
“You like being wrong, huh?”
“I’m never wrong.” She grinned. “You have impaired vision.”
I slipped a hand under her shirt, brushing her bra. “Think I should start reading braille?”
“My boobs don’t count as braille.”
I pulled down her cup and skimmed a finger over her nipple. “This says differently.”
“You are such an idiot.”
I didn’t miss the hitch in her breath. “Calling me that isn’t politically correct. Head injuries and all.” I went to the other nipple. “Probably should apologize.”
“Probably,” she said, pushing up to shimmy out of her shorts before straddling me. “I’m good at apologies.” She tugged her shirt over her head, her dark hair falling over her chest, before she took off her bra. My dick hardened. I’d have sold my soul to get inside her right then. She fumbled with my fly. “I don’t feel like I’ve apologized enough, though.” She lowered my fly and fisted my dick.
“Now we’re talking.”
“This isn’t talking…” She shoved her panties to the side before positioning me right where I wanted to be. At the first touch of wet heat, I threw my head back, trying to ground myself.
Then she stopped, and I lifted my head to look at her. “That’s not even half of an apology.”
Smiling, she sank down until all I could focus on was the way she felt wrapped around me. Like fucking heaven.
