Page 149 of Holding On To Good

“I like you, too.”

It was barely a whisper, those four words, but he heard them, clear as the ringing of bells, clanging in his head, echoing, growing louder and louder.

Yeah. Knocked right on his ass.

And he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to get back up.

I like you, too.

Damn it. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. He needed her to get pissed at him. To yell at him for talking that way to her. Needed one of her lectures on proper etiquette and all the ways he was being a rude asshole.

He needed her to give up on him.

“No,” he growled, and then, because a girl like Verity wasn’t used to hearing the word, he repeated it, louder. Sharper. “No.”

She nodded in understanding, all compassion and patient in her superiority over him in every fucking way. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it, either. But what are you gonna do? I mean, I had plans for this summer. Plans that fully did not include getting hung up on some sexy tattooed bad boy and yet” —she spread her arms wide— “here we are.”

“We’re not anywhere. You’re in some fairytale land and I’m in the real world.”

The world where princesses don’t hook up with losers with rotten, criminal pasts, shitty parents and no future.

Guys like him didn’t get girls like her.

“Look,” she said, somehow edging even closer, “I realize this isn’t ideal for either one of us, but it’s here, it’s happening and whether or not it’s some fluke brought on by hormones and pure physical attraction or curiosity or something… I don’t know… bigger or more important” —she paused to take a breath. Jesus, but this girl could talk— “and even though I’m pretty sure it’s all going to be a horrible mistake that I’ll look back on with boatloads of regret, I’m still willing to see it through.” Another pause. Another breath, this one deeper, as if she was sucking in some courage along with the much-needed oxygen. “What do you say?”

What did he say? He could barely think when she stood so close to him, now she wanted him to speak?

He knew what he wanted to say. And he knew what he should say.

What came out instead was, “It won’t work.”

Fuck. It was like he wanted her to convince him.

“Probably not,” she agreed easily. “And while I suspect at the end of whatever is between us will be nothing but heartbreak and possible fodder for future sessions with a therapist, I just… I want to spend more time with you and see where it goes.”

Again, she slid closer, so close, her bare thighs pressed against his jean-clad ones. So close her scent filled his head, coconut and flowers and something that was just her. Clean and light and sweet.

Then, she laid one hand in the middle of his chest, light as a butterfly. But he felt it, her touch, through his shirt, hot and searing as a brand.

Permanent. Scarring.

“You can kiss me,” she said, her fingers twitching above his thudding heart, her gaze on his chin. “If you want.”

Want? He was beyond want, past the point of desire and into something deeper and more dangerous than lust. It was need, incessant and unrelenting. The kind that left a guy shaking and sweating and wishing his life was different.

Wishing he was different.

Left him with no choice but to stand there, still as stone, hard as a rock, while a pretty redhead with a pinup body and a lush, pink mouth slid her other hand up his arm to his shoulder, her thumb stroking the side of his neck. Unable to remove her hands because if he touched her, he’d pull her closer.

Her gaze lifted, lingered on his mouth for one second. Two. Then rose to meet his eyes. “I want you to.”

She was too honest. Was too brave and way too reckless, giving him so much of herself. Parts he didn’t deserve. Truths he hadn’t earned.

Giving him so much more than he’d ever be able to return.

Then again, it was easy to be honest when all the truths you’d ever known were good and pure and light.

Easy to be brave when five older brothers had your back. When everything you touched turned to gold.

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