Page 66 of Too Safe

I stopped watching as soon as I realized what it was. That a person would take a video like that and upload it is sickening. And the sheer number of views makes my stomach roil in disgust. Nothing irks me more than nonconsensual filming or photography.

He was a child. A heartbroken, grieving child. And this is a blatant invasion of privacy. There were tons of pictures, too.

The whole thing makes my heart ache for the devastated little boy in the photos. His expression in some of them?Fuck. How could anyone think it’s okay to exploit him like that?

My sympathy toward Decker Crusade is short-lived though, because a few days later, I’m reminded that he’s not the heartbroken little boy anymore. No, he’s an icy, domineering asshole who’s on a mission to make me as miserable as possible.

Locke and I are in the kitchen on Wednesday night, prepping veggies for dinner and cooking up a stir-fry to share. Kylian is up in the Nest, I think, and Kendrick and Decker are holed up in the media room, watching game footage.

“Are mushrooms okay?” I ask over my shoulder. It’s not just pretzel sticks and beer that flare up his arthritis. We’re using brown rice instead of white, and something called coconut aminos instead of soy sauce. Peppers are a no-go, as are all other veggies in the nightshade family.

“Mushrooms are fine,” he confirms from where he’s rinsing rice at the sink. “Smells awesome,” he comments as he saunters up behind me.

Leaning toward the stove, he ghosts his chin against my collarbone. That’s the extent of the contact. If I had to guess, he’s making a concerted effort not to touch me anywhere else. But his heat soaks through the thin material of my shirt, and the sheer presence of him engulfs me as he peeks over my shoulder.

The tension is as delicious as it is torturous.

We’ve settled into a purgatory. One where he doesn’t push, and I don’t take. One that’s undefined, because we keep putting off the conversation I know he’s itching to have. But the sexual strain is there—a connection humming between us when we’re in the same room.

He’s waiting for me to make the first move. Although I guess it’s not really the first move. Just the next move?

I’m paralyzed with indecision.

The unfettered attraction that hit me when I met Locke hasn’t dissipated. If anything, it’s grown. That’s more than apparent by the way my nipples pebble under my tank top, pressing against the thin lace of my bralette and making me so damn glad I’m facing the stove.

But I’m still holding a grudge of sorts. I’m salty that, despite what I thought was an instant and mutual bond between us, Locke didn’t—or couldn’t—reason with Decker. Maybe he tried. But I don’t know, because we haven’t talked about it.

We’ve danced around the issue, letting the anticipation build as we spend more time together and sink into a rhythm I’ve never experienced with another person.

Life is easy with Locke. He makes things fun. I’m okay staying in purgatory for now. I fear that if I push, I’ll be faced with the possibility that what he did or didn’t do is unforgivable.

I need more time to sort through my feelings. Or maybe I need proof that if I give him another chance, he’ll have my back when I go toe to toe with Decker.

With my lip pressed between my teeth, I shift ever so slightly from hip to hip. My ass brushes against him—I knew it would—and Locke holds back what I swear is a groan.

“Do you want to take over so I can start the rice?” I hold out the spoon, peering over my shoulder through my lashes.

He zeros in on my mouth. It’s then I remember that my lip is still trapped between my teeth. Sucking in a quick breath, I release it and shimmy away from the stove without letting my body come into contact with him again.

“What are you doing to me, Hot Girl?” The words are almost inaudible since he’s speaking directly into the pan.

“I’m making you dinner,” I quip, measuring out the water for the rice.

His focus is fixed on me as I return to the stove and turn on a second burner, but I busy myself with the pot, stifling a smile.

“Smells good in here.”

I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of Kendrick just as he halts when he spots me.

“We made plenty,” Locke offers, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the glare that fixed itself on Kendrick’s face the second he realized I was in the kitchen, too. “You’re welcome to join us if you’re hungry.”

Kendrick doesn’t have time to reply before Decker storms into the kitchen.

“Good. You’re all here.”

Except we’re not. Kylian is probably still in his room.

“We need to talk about travel and sleeping arrangements for the game.”

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