For a moment, she simply gazed at me. "I don't want to dance with anyone else."
I swallowed. "Me neither, Lily." I pulled her closer as the song continued, thinking how the lyrics applied to me. Because I couldn't help it. I was in love with the girl in my arms and it seemed . . . meant to be, like fate. Beautifully designed. That we had, against all odds, somehow found each other out here in the middle of nowhere. Two people who needed each other so desperately. The song ended and we drew apart, Lily kissing me softly.
"Thank you," she said, "for giving me my first dance."
I smiled back and went to turn off the music. She wandered through the living room and I followed her, not saying a word as she went into the kitchen, trailing her hand along the granite countertops. "This is nice," she said. "It's so strange to be seeing it from the inside, instead of through the window." She gave me a small, embarrassed smile. "Said the stalker."
I laughed, leaning a hip on the doorframe and crossing my arms. I'd be happy just watching her forever. The way she looked, the way she moved . . .
She gave a slight shake of her head, walking to the refrigerator where she took a moment to look at the pictures affixed with magnets—so many. I hadn't even taken the time to look very closely at them. Mostly party pictures, it looked like, now that I was noticing, probably from the different get-togethers Brandon had had out here. She smiled, leaning in so she could look more closely here and there. "So many friends . . ." she murmured, a note of . . . jealousy? Was that jealousy in her voice? No, nothing that strong. Maybe wistfulness? As if she didn't have any friends.
"I—" I frowned, stopping myself from asking her to tell me every detail about her past. I wanted that, needed that, but I also wanted to give her the same and—I massaged my temples—I couldn't do that until I was clean. Let it be your reward, my mind whispered. Yes, Lily would be my reward.
"Where do you sleep?" she asked, her smile returning.
"Upstairs," I answered. God, I wanted to lead her to my bed and spend the night worshipping every inch of her skin. I wanted to lose myself in the warm heaven of her body. "Do you want a drink? A soda, or . . ." My voice sounded hoarse.
Lily nodded. I went to the cabinet and started making her drink as she walked to the window and looked outside for a moment. My breath faltered as I glanced at her profile. She was so beautiful. Would I ever get used to the effect she had on me? She wandered back into the living room. When I walked into the room a minute after her, holding her drink, she was standing by the window, a magazine in her hand. I supposed she'd found it in the basket next to the large, overstuffed leather recliner, the one filled with all sorts of reading material.
I froze as she turned toward me, her face pale, arrested. Stricken. She looked from the magazine to me. "Holden Scott," she said softly, blinking at me. "This is . . . this is . . . you?" she asked. From the small amount of cover I could see, it was a Sports Illustrated. I didn't know which specific edition it was, but I'd been on the cover several times, it could be one of many. I nodded. She looked from the magazine cover back to me again. Her body was stiff, and she looked as if she was in shock.
"I know, I didn't tell you I'm a football player, or that I'm, well, very well known," I said, setting her drink on the coffee table. I ran my hand through my hair, as she eyed me. She blinked, looking confused, wary. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, stuffing my hands into my pockets. "I just . . . I just didn't want to be him," I nodded my head to the magazine, "out here, with you. You helped me remember that that's not who I am. And, God, it's been so painful." I frowned, clenching my eyes closed for a moment. "I guess I'm not making sense, but you've helped me. You've helped me so much, and I don’t even want to explain it all to you until I'm well again. Can you trust me?" I walked toward her. When I came to stand in front of her, her eyes moved slowly over my face as she chewed on her lip.
"Is that why you're here?" she asked. "To get well?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she again, glanced at the magazine and back to me.
I nodded. "Yes. And I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to get well." She continued to stare at me, something working behind her eyes that I had no idea how to read. I stilled as I waited for her reaction. Finally, she reached out and tentatively took my hand in hers, looking down at the back of my hand as she ran a finger over each knuckle. I shivered at her touch. Her eyes met mine, that gorgeous violet gaze seeming so very grave.
"Yes, Boy Scout, I trust you. I want you to be well again."
My breath came out in a rush and relief flooded my chest. To have someone who had faith in me made my heart squeeze with gratitude. "This has to be our last night for a little bit. Just a week, hopefully. But I . . . I need to—"