Page 82 of Ablaze

He pulls me up and kisses me raggedly, messily. “Fuck. Any other talents you want to familiarize me with?”

I giggle, swiping my tongue over my lips. “Maybe. But it would take more than one night.”

And with the way Dean’s smile drops, I realize I’ve said the wrong thing yet again.

* * *

My eyes flutter open to the stream of light coming in from the curtains. It’s a deceptive allure that would have you imagining a warm spring day rather than the freezing temperatures outside.

As I slowly gain a sense for where I am, my senses fill with the scent of sandalwood and soap, and I breathe in as if to flood my every cell with him.

My eyes snag on a long thicket of soft hair underneath a tight pack of abs, and I make a fist to withhold reaching out and running my hand over the expanse of his delicious skin.

My head is on his chest, my arm tucked around his waist. Overnight, I’ve even managed to nestle my always-cold toes under his calves.

From the rise and fall of his chest, I get the sense he’s still sleeping, so I slowly lift my head to glimpse his face, but instead, I find him looking back at me. There’s a distant look in his gaze, and even though I know his eyes are on my face, his mind is nowhere nearby.

My hand trails over the ridges of his abs, the pebbled bump of his nipple, the collarbone I’ve found myself marveling at more than I should, to the edge of his jaw. His scruff scratches my palm, and my thighs clench at the recollection of how it felt between them.

“Dean . . .” I breathe, trailing off and trying to figure out how to put everything in my head into words. I’m not sure there’s been a language created to translate it all. “Maybe we could–”

“We need to get on the road while they’re open.”

I snap my mouth shut, realizing he cut me off purposely.

He doesn’t want to talk about the maybes. He doesn’t want a conversation exploring how we could potentially work this out. What he wants is to get on the road and get me to my destination as fast as possible.

Shame and embarrassment warm my cheeks. I’ve never thought of myself as the needy, clingy type, but given what he just saw in my eyes, that’s likely what he’s thinking about me. In his head, he’s thinking, “Jesus. I need to get away from this woman before she mistakes a night of fucking for wedding vows.”

Burying the ache somewhere deep and plastering a smile on my face, I nod. I scoot off him, avoiding his stare. Thankfully, I’d put on my pajamas again last night after our shower, so I’m not stark naked and exposed in more ways than I need to be at this point.

Dean’s sigh resounds in the room that didn’t feel quite as small last night, but I continue to my bag, picking out a change of clothes and head to the bathroom.

Dean is dressed and almost ready to go by the time I’m out of the bathroom, and while I’m repacking my toiletries, he goes inside to brush his teeth without any exchange of words.

I hear the bathroom door open and the slide of his feet on the carpet behind me, lingering.

“Mala . . .” His voice is a resignation and a plea. One that feels too little and too late based on what we shared last night.

“We should get on the road.” I pull my suitcase off the console and shuffle over to the door, ignoring the acid filling my chest or the prick of more tears at the corners of my eyes.

Dean follows me with another sigh.

Chapter Twenty-Five

MALA

Eleven Months Ago

I walk back to my office, looking down at my phone screen, my heels clicking on the ceramic floor with a tap, tap, tap. Even now, after almost two months, the sound is foreign to me, like it’s coming from somewhere far away.

My usual attire is one of the many things I’ve had to change since I started working at Doggone. I still change into my sweatshirt and shorts almost as soon as I get home, but there’s a part of my closet that looks distinctly different from the rest with skirts, blouses, blazers, and heels.

It’s been an adjustment.

Another adjustment? The lack of conversation with my best friend.

It’s not like we haven’t spoken, because we have, through texts here and there. Twice I heard him in the background when I spoke to Rohan on the phone, too, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he’s avoiding me. That he doesn’t want to speak on the phone. That he doesn’t want to hear my voice.

---