She brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Suddenly, tears cascaded down her cheeks.
Panic coursed through me. Please, please don’t say something happened to Gracie. I pinched the bridge of my nose. She tucked her head down and began to cry.
Motherfucker. I ran to her, sat down, then reached out to pull her to me whether she wanted me to or not. Maybe I needed to hug her for my own sanity or my own dire need to feel her again. I gently grabbed her arms. “Come here,” I said softly.
She adjusted herself against me without a fight, sobbing.
“Shhh. Everything will be okay. I’m here for you,” I whispered as I rested my chin on her head, stroking her hair. Her in my arms felt so right, yet so wrong. At that moment, I was at peace with my demons. But as soon as she left my arms, I would be a complete fucking mess. It didn’t matter. I had to help her, even if that meant putting my feelings on the line.
She hiccupped. “I’m sorry.” She pressed her hands to my chest and pushed weakly.
I didn’t move.
“I’m getting snot all over you.”
I whipped off my jacket then pulled up the bottom of my T-shirt and wiped her tears. “You can blow your nose if you’d like.”
She regarded me with a fragile smile. “How many girls have you offered your shirt to?”
“Only you.” Honest answer. I couldn’t handle girls who cried. But with Lizzie it was different, natural. Like she was part of me or had never left me.
She sucked in a breath then shivered before she accepted my offer.
“I can take it off,” I said.
“Please, leave it on.” Her voice was nasally and strangled. After she patted her eyes and wiped her nose, she adjusted her position, moving to sit cross-legged. “Thank you. I don’t mean to dump my life on you.”
“I told you I want to help. Do you want to talk about Gracie?”
She shuddered. “Gracie died when she was fourteen. Overdosed on pills.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I had no words other than that. I wasn’t sure I was breathing or if blood was even pumping through me.
She waved a hand in front of me.
I blinked.
“She couldn’t handle life anymore. She was never the same after that day. We tried to get her help. But medication, therapy, love, nothing got through to her.”
Shooting a friend had to be more traumatic than anything I could imagine. Death alone was traumatic. Finding a dead body was traumatic. My mom and Lacey both understood that more than anyone. But accidentally killing a friend and then watching her die had to supersede all else. I stood up, took off my ball cap, and tugged on my hair. Here I was worried about my own fucking feelings. This girl lost her entire family, and loser Malden had stolen her inheritance. I went over to the pinball machine, lost in a sea of what-the-hell. When I turned, she was standing in front of me with doe-like eyes and about to say something. Before she did, I let go of my ball cap and cupped her face in my hands, her soft skin heating my palms. I mapped my gaze from her lips to her eyes before fixating on the gold speck in her left eye. After a long moment, I lowered my head, a thread separating us.
Her long lashes fell, sweeping the tops of her cheeks. As if that was my cue, I brushed my lips across hers.
She whimpered. My stomach flip-flopped. She grasped my hips before she slipped the tips of her fingers inside the waist of my jeans, moving closer.
Sirens went off in my head. My blood boiled in a good way. I yearned to strip her naked. Not here. Not now. Not while she was vulnerable, and not when I was trying to protect myself from getting hurt. So I silently chanted Patriots, football, Super Bowl, anything to keep the madman in me from bursting free. But fuck if her hot touch and delicate fingers didn’t send the fire straight to my groin.
My chest rose, meeting hers. “You’re so damn beautiful. Just like the day I met you.” I slowly pressed my lips to hers. Sparks ignited somewhere. Or maybe it was the throbbing in my ears.
She licked her lips. I groaned then nibbled on her bottom lip before easing my tongue inside her mouth. The world crystalized. Gone was the haze that had been clouding me for the last seven years. I buried my hands in her hair, exploring her mouth. She tasted like summer and bubblegum.
She slid her hands around to my back as she sucked on my tongue.
Patriots. Football. Super Bowl. Stop. Break it off now, my subconscious yelled. The problem was my body wasn’t obeying. I wanted more of her, mind, body, and soul. Reluctantly I broke away, kissing along her jaw until I settled on her ear.
She pressed her hips into me.
My body hardened, every fucking inch of it. “I love your toe socks,” I whispered as my hands—almost of their own accord—traveled down to grab her butt, firm yet soft.
She giggled.