Page 54 of ILY
I head inside and start the coffee maker before staring at the kitchen. There are remnants of the dinner he cooked for me, the pots in the sink, a few dishes stacked on the counter that he didn’t know where to put. The cast-iron pan is on the counter, freshly wiped down and oiled.
Everything he’s done so far contradicts everything he is.
He’s a man who was supposed to take me to jail for a crime, but instead, he stalked me, let me suck his dick several times, made me come till I saw stars, and gave me both a cock boneranda heart boner.
And then, when I was spiraling worse than I had in a long time, he pulled me out of a literal hole in the ground, made me dinner, and put me to bed. I’d fallen asleep in his arms last night, comforted by the weight of him.
I thought he’d come to bed with me so he could get in my ass—which I wouldn’t have been opposed to—but he’d seen my soul-deep fatigue, and instead of taking what he wanted, he gave.
He listened. He held me. He made me feel safe and sane, and that wasn’t something I’d felt in a long, long time.
This is too complicated. I want to go back to groundhog hunting and insanity, please and thank you. It’s wild there, but it’s easier than feelings.
Pulling out a package of bread, I remember he’s filled my kitchen with groceries too. He saw this pathetic, sad sack of shit making bad choices, and instead of throwing me in cuffs, he tucked me in and made me comfort food.
Okay, yeah. I needed answers.
Did he like me, or was this just some weird fetish he had for people who have hit rock bottom, then dug themselves a few feet deeper for good measure?
“Do you want me to make you something other than toast?”
I jump at the sound of his voice and turn to find him dressed in what he’d been wearing last night. He looks way too put together for a man who slept on a porch. I hate him for it, even if I’m also wildly turned on.
“You’re not doing anything except sitting in that chair,”—I point to the one slightly pulled away from the table—“and answering every question I have.”
The coffee machine clicks, and I grab two mugs, pouring them almost all the way full. This is not a cream-and-sugar kind of talk. It’s a black-coffee interrogation. I slide a mug over to him, and he picks it up, taking a long drink and sighing happily.
I ignore the little beat of pleasure in my chest that I did something right. This is not the time, damn it. This is serious business.
I stand across from him, staring, drumming my fingers on my mug. “Why didn’t you arrest me?”
He doesn’t answer for a while. Then he takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure you were doing anything wrong. The moment I met you, I had doubts about Michael.”
“So you thought I was delusional, or?—”
“Like you said, you called him a groundhog several times. My gut told me that I didn’t have all the information correct, but I wanted to make sure it was right and not reacting because I…” He stops for a beat, but when I raise my brows, he sighs and says, “Because I was attracted to you.”
I purse my lips, my fingers still thrumming an annoying rhythm on my ceramic mug.
“So you weren’t entirely convinced I was a bad man who was holding someone hostage?”
He rolls his eyes up toward the ceiling like he’s offering up a prayer. “I wasn’t sure. I had…doubts.”
Something about that pisses me off. What am I to him, really? “Do you get off on that? Is this a kink of yours?”
His eyebrows rise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you only here because you’re into criminals? Have you done this with suspects in the past?”
He lets out a surprised laugh and then bites it back when he sees my scowling. “No. Leaf.” Fuck, I like the way he says my name, a little heavy on the tongue, thick in the back of the throat. “I’m genuinely attracted to you.”
“Oh.” Becauseoh. The look on his face tells me he’s being sincere, and I’m not sure I was prepared for that.
“It has nothing to do with you being a criminal.” He pauses and then sighs, realizing what he said. “Not that you’re a criminal. You’re obviously not.”
“I’m not. Michael is though. He’s a thief and a menace.”
Thorne’s eyes twinkle, and my gut swoops, blood rushing south. “And a groundhog.”
