"Well," I say. "That was certainly unexpected."
He lowers his forehead to mine and laughs.
"Jesus, you're hell on the ego," he whispers against my mouth. I hear an echo of something harsh and cruel that Robert said to me once, but I don't stiffen. I refuse to let Robert into my head to ruin this.
I cup his cheek gently. "Unexpected in a good way."
"What about in a ‘I'd like to do that again sometime’ way?" His voice is low and heavy. I can imagine him in bed, his long body pressed against mine, his words as much of a caress as his fingers or his tongue.
I close my eyes. I have a thousand reasons to hesitate. Even more to run in the opposite direction.
There are no happily ever afters for girls like me. Girls who can’t keep their mouths shut and go along with society’s expectations of what a good girl is. And it hurts, it physically hurts, to think of how this ends.
Because it will end. It always does.
"Hey?"
I open my eyes, not realizing that I hadn't responded. "I've probably done irreparable damage to your ego at this point, haven't I?"
He smiles. "I'm a little bit tougher than that. Not much, though." He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. "You don't have to answer."
I narrow my eyes then. "You're quite the mystery, aren't you?"
"I suppose?"
Because I can't help it, I lean in, brushing my lips across his. "You're like a good dream. And I don't want to wake up."
He grins but there is a shadow in his eyes. "There's something to be said for good dreams."
"That's an odd thing to say," I whisper against his mouth.
Josh Douglas is a craving. A want.
And he's turning into an unhealthy distraction from my purpose here at school. Oh, I want to do this. Him. I really do. Josh has a whole lot of good going for him. And that's before I mentally strip that shirt from his body and explore those glorious shoulders with my fingers.
He shrugs and shifts so that he's resting his elbows on his knees. The tattoos on his forearms are more than shadows now. I am drawn to the stark lines on his skin. “Why these words?”
I swallow and physically move closer. Apparently, I'm about as subtle as an elephant in the room because he notices my eyes drop to his arms.
"You have a thing for tattoos?" he asks.
I don't want to answer. I don't want to resurrect anything about those memories that are circling dangerously, waiting for the right moment to strike.
"Not really." The truth, from a certain point of view. From another point of view, though, it's terrifyingly simple. And it's a simplicity that I'm not ready to talk to him—or anyone—about. “I’m curious, that’s all.”
It doesn't matter anymore. It does not get a vote on who I am anymore.
“I got them before my last deployment,” he says after a moment.
I blink rapidly, the lines on his arms blurring as a memory hits me hard. “So are you?” I look up at him. “Your brother’s keeper?”
“I was.” He swallows hard and looks away. “I’m not anymore.” He looks back at me.
“Who are you?”
He says nothing. People say you can't change what you come from. They might be right but that doesn't mean you have to let it define you. You don't have to keep going back home again and taking shit from people about how much better you think you are than they are now that you've got an education.
And holy shit I am not doing this. I can’t wait for his response. I can’t let myself be drawn toward the darkness.
I have to focus. I have to keep moving forward before the past catches up to me and drags me back where I come from. To a place where tattoos are drunkenly etched into hard, damaged skin. Where life is nasty, brutish, and short.
I lift my laptop to my knees. "I really need to finish my assignment." The truth, cloaked in regret. “I'm on scholarship. I have to keep my grades up.”
I don't miss the flicker of disappointment a moment before he smiles.
It doesn't reach his eyes.
I lick my lips, wishing I couldn't taste him on me. I can smell him on my skin from that brief contact. And I want more, so much more.
But Robert destroyed a lot in those few months. He destroyed the fa?ade that I'd built out of the wreckage of an out-of-place kid from southern Georgia who didn't belong at a wealthy college. He reminded me that this is not my world and that no matter how hard I try, I will never truly fit here.
I can feel my past pulling at me, trying to drag me back down to what I was. Angry. Withdrawn. Hating the world.
I will not be that person again.
When Josh gets up to leave, I don't stop him.
Proving that the insecure person I was is very much a part of who I am.
Chapter 10
Josh
I can’t go to class. I feel sick to my stomach. It's twisting and knotted and wrenching.