Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,106
in her voice. “And that’s not something I can steal. So nope. No ink, and apart from my ears, no piercings or anything else sneaky. You?”
“Piercings? Nah. Not my idea of therapy.”
“Shame,” she mock-pouts. “I heard dick piercings are all the shit for chicks who wanna come hard.”
I know she’s teasing. I know she’s looking for a reaction. It’s who she is, after all. But still, my cock grows beneath me until it reaches a point of pain.
“Are you done?” I try to peek over my shoulder. “I wanna get up.”
“Not done yet.” She dips her rag back into the cup, then comes back and works it over my shoulder blades. “I want to tell you something, but I’d feel better if you were looking away while I do.”
“God forbid you ever feel insecure or out of your comfort zone.”
She snickers. “You caught me. I guess, for some people, talking is therapy. Just like ink is for you. But that’s not me. Talking makes me uncomfortable, because when you’re living a life where your name isn’t even your name, well, it’s logical that the more you talk, the more you have to keep track of. It’s easier for me to tell you I went to a wizarding school than it is to name an actual school, because maybe I’ll tell the next person a different one, and then bam, I have to start taking notes on all my lies.”
“Or,” I counter and close my eyes. “You could just tell me the truth. That could be a fun new game we could play.”
She draws in a deep breath until her chest expands, then exhales so her breath whispers along my sensitized skin. “Touché.”
“What’s the thing you want to tell me?”
“That I loved you.” She says it so quickly, it’s almost like she’s tearing off a Band-Aid. “I loved you, Jamie. Fully. Freely.”
I turn over beneath her so fast that she doesn’t even have to move. From my front to my back, from sitting on my ass, to sitting on my cock, Quinn’s eyes cloud, but my hands go to her hips to hold her close.
“I loved you too,” I admit on a rasped murmur. “With my whole heart.”
“I knew that week would end badly.” She swallows. “In fact, I’m almost certain I told you it would. But once the warnings were out of the way, and we still wanted to give it a go…” She stares into my eyes for a heated pause. “I gave myself to you freely. I knowingly, willingly, tore my heart from my chest, and handed it to you. And when we drove away after Christmas—”
“I’ve spent so long focusing on the hurt I feel.” Pushing up to sit, I swipe a thumb beneath her eye when a lone tear escapes and slides over her delicate skin. “I’ve been obsessed with how unfairly treated I feel.”
“You have a right to,” she chokes out. “I hurt you. And even while telling you I loved you, I lied about who I really was. That was shitty of me.”
“Yeah.” I cup her jaw, and stop close enough that the tips of our noses touch and her breath scorches down my throat. “It was shitty,” I admit. “But my pity party and assuming I was the only one who was hurt was shitty of me. Maybe you were the one who left, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you.”
“I’ve been in pain every single day since we drove out.” Her breath hitches and catches. “I know I hurt you. But I hurt me, too.”
“I’m sorry for pushing all of the blame onto you.” I press a gentle kiss to her wet cheek. “I’ve been riding a massive pity train for four years.”
“But the blame is all mine to bear. I was the liar. I was the one who left. I was the one who refused to take your calls once I was gone. I was the one who worked in a seedy club for a seedy man. And I was the one who was kissed by someone right in front of you. This is all on me, and you were just the guy who fell in love with the wrong girl.” She looks up to the ceiling and shakes her head. “If you kissed someone else in front of me, even now, after four years apart, I swear I would rip that bitch’s extensions out.”
My breath bursts out on a silent laugh. “You assume girls I date wear extensions.”