Page 64 of The Illicit Play
There’s no way I can get shitty with him. He’s my frickin’ savior!
“You okay?” he softly murmurs, resting his hand on my lower back and leading me out of the store.
I can’t even nod.
Why is he being nice to me? Checking on me like I’ve been through hell and need comforting?
Well, I have. And I do!
But I don’t deserve it.
Shit, I shouldn’t have called him.
I should have just gone to jail and rotted away, because that’s what my life is worth right now. Fucking rot!
As soon as we reach the intersection and pause at the crosswalk, I bolt right, around the corner, and take off running.
Grady doesn’t need this shit.
“Blake!”
I shake my head, my boots pounding on the pavement as I try to make a break and…
I don’t even know.
Where the hell can I run to anyway?
I’ve never been more lost in my entire life.
CHAPTER 18
GRADY
“Blake! Blake, stop!”
It’s not hard for me to catch her. I’m used to putting on quick bursts of speed. She makes me sprint, but I reach her by the end of the block, just before she darts across the street.
Snagging her arm, I pull her to a stop.
She fights me for a second, letting out these gasping sobs and bending over.
I wrap my arm around her waist, plucking her off her feet and carrying her away from the prying eyes of people driving past.
Ducking into a side alley, I set her back down and turn her to face me.
“Hey.” I crouch low, trying to look at her face, my hand resting lightly on her elbow.
“I’ll pay you back, okay?” Her voice is shaking as she tucks her hair behind her ears. Her cheeks are pale, her eyes red-rimmed with smudges of black mascara under her lashes. She looks a wreck all over again, although thistime there’s a wild unpredictability about her. She’s not wasted, she’s?—
“I’m sorry,” she blurts, squeezing her eyes shut, her head shaking in quick, stiff movements as she clutches her biceps. Her arms are crossed over herself, creating a clear barrier. “Thank you… for bailing me out. You don’t have to help me again, okay? You can… I won’t be a problem.”
“Hey,” I whisper, running my hand from her elbow to her wrist and gently tugging. She’s squeezing the shit out of herself right now, and she needs to relax.
She tenses, fighting my move, but I gently coax her to let go, wriggling my fingers under her palm until she releases her grip.
Her arm flops down and I hold her wrist, lightly rubbing the small slice of skin poking out from beneath her jacket.
“Blake.” My voice sounds deeper and gruffer than I mean it to be, so I lick the edge of my mouth and try to whisper. “Blake, you need to talk to me.”
