Page 57 of False Start
Maybe this obsession is getting out of hand.
Each time her fingers travel, I pray they’ll go further, maybe an inch higher, maybe a few inches lower.
“I need you to touch me,” I whine, an embarrassing plea, but I’m burning with desire, and I want it from her.
“Not here,” she hums in my ear. It doesn’t feel like the rejection my brain would automatically go to. It just feels like a promise for later.
An hour goes by before she slides shut the glass of the moonroof and turns the heat back on. But we don’t move; we don’t ruin this.
The viewisbreathtaking.
“Lonnie used to joke about me and you.” She finally looks my way. “They made you out to be this faultless, perfect little thing. Unbeatable, charming, undeniably likable.”
“And the real thing must have been a let down, huh?” I laugh, snuggling into her side.
“When you blew in out of goddamn nowhere, you fucked all of my shit up. All my plans, every aspect of my life I had perfectly set up to get to the place where I finally feel safe and secure.” Her honesty is starting to hurt, but I don’t pull away. “I spent my whole life trying to feel that, and thenyou. But it turned out you were none of those things. You’re self-conscious, you’re fragile, you’reso beyond damaged thatnotprotecting you feels like a goddamn crime against Lonnie.”
“You’re doing all of this… for Lonnie?” The realization is like a splintering in my chest, and I try to pull away.
“Let me finish.” She puts her thumb to my lip, and I fight the urge to bring it between my teeth. “Iwouldhave done it for Lonnie. I don’t have to, though, because I’m doing it for me. I won’t let you tear yourself apart anymore, Nia.”
I shake my head. “I’m too good at it. It’s all I know. I’m not sure anyone can stop me anymore.”
She drops her forehead to mine, and the whole world shrinks to just us. “Try me, princess.”
By the timewe make it back to her place, the party has completely cleared out, and someone even locked up. Kade is nowhere in sight, but once I pull up my phone, it’s enough to not make me worry too much.
CAN WE TALK WHEN YOU GET BACK?
Those kindsof texts make my anxiety climb to no end, but I respond anyway.
SURE.
I’M SORRY ABOUT TONIGHT.
Was I?
Harvey unlocks the front door and ushers me, closing it behind me then flipping the lights on to show the mess left behind by our friends. “Make yourself at home. I’m gonna clean up a little.”
I stay unmoving.
“I mean it. It’s not just a thing to say. Wander around if you want.” She chuckles, shooing me with a free hand while the other picks up an empty beer can on the ground.
“Can I help?” I offer, fumbling with an itch in my cast I can’t quite reach.
Her chuckle turns into a full blown laugh. “With your one hand? I’m good.”
I walk down the hallway, and there’s a third door I don’t expect, the one that isn’t the bedroom or the bathroom. “What’s in there?”
“It’s my hobby graveyard.” She walks over and opens it to reveal a small office.
She calls it a hobby room, but it’s an artist’s space. There are a few paintings and drawings casually tossed over a table, some easels scattered on the floor. Some balls of yarn are falling haphazardly out of a box in the corner with a macrame wall hanging above it. It's the leatherworking desk that grabs my attention—beautifully detailed patches, belts, wallets, coasters.
“This is amazing, Harvey.” I can’t hold it in; it’s a sideof her I couldn’t have predicted, and I’m bewildered by it all. “You did all of this?”
“I go through phases. Some of this stuff is years old. I haven’t touched a paintbrush in forever.” She shrugs like it’s nothing.
“It’s still impressive; don’t minimize it. This leather stuff is incredible.” I turn to her, still fully dressed in cargo pants and combat boots. “Wait.” I look closer, bending down to one knee. “Did you make those boots too?”
