me. If he’d move close enough for me to see the black flecks in his brown eyes.
“I’m fine,” I said, breathless.
His eyes landed on mine, and his finger stopped for a moment before trailing down from my temple, along the side of my face, and landing on my jaw.
“You have something,” he said, his thumb shifting across my chin, causing the bubbles percolating inside me to jump to new levels.
If I moved, I could put our lips together.
As if he’d read my thoughts, he backed up. He went to the sink, pulled a paper towel from the rack, wet it, and handed it to me. He pointed to his own chin. “Right here.”
I handed the damp towel back to him. “Just get it for me. It’ll be easier.”
He didn’t take it.
“Don’t be a baby,” I taunted, shoving the towel at him. It was my new favorite thing. Taunting Dawson. Trying to see how far I could push him.
He smirked, taking the towel and wiping at my chin with a rough swipe, no gentleness left in sight. “I’m the baby? You’re the one having me clean your face like a toddler.”
He did that a lot. Made me seem younger than I was. I think it was to remind himself of our age difference. Of me being jailbait.
I was sixteen, but I didn’t feel sixteen. I felt like I’d lived much, much longer. Too long to never have been kissed by a boy.
He stepped away, throwing the paper towel in the trash.
“What were you doing?” he asked, waving a hand toward the counter.
“Trying to get my pen,” I said.
He leaned down, his long arm easily reaching the stray object, but it also made his shirt rise at the back, exposing tan skin and the top of his black boxers. The motion emphasized the shape of his butt outlined in the tight denim, and I completely lost my breath.
I wanted to touch him. I wanted to touch him so bad my entire body ached.
“Were you checking out my ass?” he asked, turning and standing, giving me a wicked wink.
“Please. I’ve seen better,” I huffed, flicking my braid back.
He handed me my pen. “Maybe. But you didn’t deny checking it out.”
“Thank you, hon,” a female voice ripped me back to the present day and the guests in the kitchen.
“Oh. Of course. Enjoy your day,” I said as they walked from the room hand in hand.
My desire for Dawson had caused me to get behind the wheel of a car I didn’t know how to drive. And when Dawson took the blame for the crash, it had almost destroyed Jersey’s relationship with Truck because she’d blamed them both. The scars from that time had followed me―literally and figuratively―to UC Berkeley where I’d made a few more bad decisions with his brown eyes haunting me.
Silas knew none of that. He’d never asked about my past relationships, just like I hadn’t asked about his. I hadn’t known we needed to share that piece of ourselves because I hadn’t known he was thinking forever when he kissed me. Maybe I should have. Maybe the first time he’d taken me home to his parents, I should have guessed.
But all I’d seen was an easy affection that had turned a friendship into friends with benefits. This moment, with Silas feeling hurt and me feeling guilty, was the perfect example of why those sorts of arrangements never worked out.
Someone always ended up wanting more than the other person could give.
Dawson
WASTED ON YOU
“Just pass me the bitter truth.
Will I ever be the same?
Am I strong enough to change?
Is it in my blood?”
Performed by Evanescence
Written by Lee / Majura / McCord / McLawhorn / Hunt
It was still dark when we got off the plane outside Hartford. Jada wobbled. She’d drunk herself into a stupor on the jet, hiding in the bedroom because she knew I would have said something and stopped her at some point well before she’d reached this level of inebriation.
At least there was no media here. It was a good thing because she could barely stand, and the paparazzi would have had a field day. It would definitely have gotten back to her father. Hell, it probably still would. After all, that was why Ken’Ichi had sent not only Ito-san but also Saito-san with us.
To report. To keep us in check. To figure out if I’d planted the bug.
My stomach turned.
Jada’s makeup, which had been perfect when we’d left, was a blur, as if she were a smudged photograph. She