Even if the odds are good.
Even if the odds are negligible.
Can I honestly promise her that?
I have to be sure.
"Come here." I wrap my arms around her and I kiss her hard and deep.
I let every feeling in my body rise to the surface.
Every place I ignore. Every thing I hide. Every ugly corner.
She holds onto me like I'm a life raft.
It's what she's asking.
This is a huge responsibility.
I have to treat it like one.
"Well?" Her fingers dig into my chest. Her eyes go saucer wide. They bore into mine. Beg for every bit of affection in the world. "Did that help you figure it out?"
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dean
Every molecule of my body screams the same thing.
Somehow, I know this deep in my bones.
I press my palm into Chloe's lower back to pull her closer. "I'm sure."
"But what if I'm sick?"
"I'm still sure."
She stares back at me, assessing my words, looking for cracks.
After what she's been through, I don't blame her.
Hell, after the way I've treated her, I don't blame her.
I don't have a way to convince her.
Talk is cheap.
Sticking around every day is what counts.
But I can't do shit about that at the moment.
"What if I'm dying?" she asks. "What if we only get a year to be together then you have to watch me disappear?"
"Sounds like A Walk to Remember."
Her laugh erases the tension in her expression. "The Nicholas Sparks book?"
"Book? Please. I've only seen the excellent film. Starring certified hottie Mandy Moore."
"Is she a certified hottie?"
"Yeah. But she's no Chloe."
Her lips curl into a smile. "What if we're a Nicholas Sparks movie?"
"Guy in the movie seemed happy."
"So, you're basing your life decisions on a sappy romance writer?"
"I'm not gonna pretend I understand what it means to fall in love with someone with an expiration date. But I can't imagine a universe where I don't want to protect you."
"Is that what you've been doing?"
I nod.
"I guess you have. In your way."
"Exactly."
"It's not your strong suit."
"I know."
She leans in to brush her lips to mine. "How can you be so sure?"
"Nobody has ever made me feel the way you do."
"Ever?"
I nod. "You look at me like I'm worth your time. Like you see this guy who can be better. When I see that in your eyes, I want it. I want to be better. I want to earn your respect. Your trust. Your love."
"Dean…" She drags her fingertips down my neck. "You can't tell me I make you want to be a better person and keep to this no sex thing."
"I can't?"
She nods. "It's cruel."
"I thought we agreed I'm cruel."
"But you want to be a better person."
"A better guy would fuck you when you're drunk and vulnerable?"
"Semantics." She squeezes me with her thighs as she leans closer. Her lips brush mine. It's soft. Sweet. I need you not I need your cock inside me.
She tastes good. Like whiskey and like Chloe.
But that doesn't add credence to her claim of sobriety.
I pull back with a heavy sigh. "You play dirty."
"Sometimes you have to. To get what you want. You're the one who taught me that."
"Too smart for my own good."
"You are." She smiles as she shifts her hips away from mine. "You never told me where the line is."
If she kisses me one more time, I'm going to throw away the fucking line. "My self-control isn't getting better the more you sit in my lap."
"Mine either." She slides off me with a heavy sigh. "I just want to state, for the record, that this is entrapment."
"Is it?"
"Yeah." She takes a seat next to me and rests her head on my shoulder. "You insisted we toast then said I was too drunk."
"Fuck. I'm evil. It's not like you were angling for more booze."
"Not at all."
"I talked you into that."
"Yeah." She drags her fingertips over my leg like she's doodling on a piece of paper. "I was stone-cold sober before that too."
"Uh-huh."
"Glad we agree." Her laugh bounces around the room. It fills me with this deep, pure warmth. One I don't recognize. One I want more of. "So, um… I'm pretty sure I'm going to start taking off my clothes if we sit here talking."
"Are you?"
"Yeah. And I… I do get your point. You're wrong that I'll regret this. That I'm only asking because I'm vulnerable. And, quite frankly, I can't comprehend the reality that Dean Maddox is suggesting we wait to have sex."
"Me either."
"But then… I do see it. The guy you really are." Her dark eyes fill with affection as she looks up at me. "He's merciful enough to distract me."
"Is he?"
"Not like that." Her cheeks flush. "But somehow. And he needs to. Or I'm going to take my clothes off. And we all know how that will end."
Fuck, I can't believe I'm turning her down.
It goes against twenty-five years of instincts.
But it's the right call.
"How do you suggest I distract you?" I ask.
"I pitched one idea." She laughs. "I think that means it's your turn."
After takeout Thai, I put on one of Chloe's old favorites. Bringing Up Baby. There's a poster in her room—I caught a glimpse in one of her banana selfies.
She settles into the couch with a ceramic plate in her lap and her eyes on the screen. Somehow, she manages to eat without taking her eyes off the TV or spilling a drop.
She's practiced at this.
Not that I can talk. When I'm not out, picking up women, or drinking with my friends, I'm here.
There's something intimate about sharing a meal.
It's domestic.
Like we're playing house.
We finish dinner halfway through the movie.
I take our shit to the kitchen. Clean up.
She stays transfixed on the screen until I move back onto the couch.
All her attention turns to me. "You never put a shirt on."
"It's hot."
She laughs. "It's really not."
I shrug, coy.
"You get off on this cruelty, don't you?"
Not usually. Usually, I'm not into teasing. But with Chloe? Fuck. That's a whole different ball game.
"Why did I say get off?"
"You like torturing yourself."
"I must if I'm here." She looks up at me with hunger in her eyes.
But she doesn't push it.
Her hands go to my waist.
Her fingers dig into my skin as she pulls my body toward hers.
I suck on her bottom lip.
Fuck, her groans are music. Poetry. Everything.
Pulling back is torture.
She sighs as she settles into her seat.
Rests her head on my shoulder like she isn't dying to tear my clothes off.
I hold her close like I'm not dying to tear hers off.
We make it through the rest of the movie. Then the first half of the next—she picks His Girl Friday. Falls asleep an hour in.
She melts into me.
Usually, my skin crawls when a girl falls asleep on top of me. It's an intimacy I don't want.
It's still fucking terrifying.
But it feels good. Right.
I run my fingers through her hair. Watch her chest rise and fall with her exhale. Watch her lips part with a sigh.
Chloe stirs as I wrap my arms around her and carry her to the bedroom.
Her hand slides around the back of my neck.
Her head rests on my chest.
She murmurs something into my skin. I have no idea what it is. Only that I want more of that soft, needy tone.
I lay her on the blue sheets.
Her eyes blink open. Fix on mine.
She smiles a wide, nervous smile. The same one she gave me all those years ago.
I sit next to her. Pull the comforter to her chest.
"Good night." I press my lips to her forehead.
She lets out a soft sigh. "Good night."
It's agony tearing myself away, but I manage it.
I move into the main room. Pour a glass of water. Channel surf.
Nothing is as interesting as the thought of Chloe in my bed. But this spy thriller TV show is entertaining enough.
As the first episode ends, footsteps move across the hallway. The bathroom door opens. The water runs.
I start the next episode. The title splashes over the screen in big black letters.
The water turns off.
Her footsteps move closer.
"Dean?" Her fingers skim the wall as she moves into the main room. "Will you sleep with me?"