Page 257 of Tell Me Something True

They showered together, Miles washing her once again, his touch gentle and soothing. Almost impersonal.

As impersonal as a man could get with his eight-inch-hard-on poking her slick belly.

She was tempted to give him—and that lovely cock—a few lingering strokes of her own. To build something more heated, more basic between them. But she was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

And she didn’t want to use sex to hide from her emotions. To numb her pain.

Never wanted to use Miles in that way.

Besides, it was nice being taken care of in a nonsexual way. Knowing he was there for her, offering her comfort. Care.

Trusting he wanted nothing in return.

She basked in his attention, her body going lax under the warm water, her mind emptying of everything except his soothing touch. A completely unique sort of pleasure, one she’d rarely felt, suffusing her as he helped her rinse off then patted her dry with one of his big, fluffy towels. One that filled her chest with warmth.

It was getting easier and easier to let that warmth blossom.

Easier and easier to embrace it instead of pushing it away.

Although she had pajamas in her bag, when he offered her one of his T-shirts to sleep in, she accepted it. There was something about wearing this man’s clothes that had the warmth in her chest bursting into full bloom. This shirt was worn and soft and fell to the middle of her thighs.

And it had Jennings embroidered on the front. Right above her heart. As if the shirt, too, knew who her heart belonged to.

Well. She hoped he didn’t like this shirt because she lived it in now.

He tugged on his gray sweats and then they padded barefoot into his kitchen. She sliced a couple of apples while he made them grilled cheese sandwiches—not quite Toby-level gourmet fare, but it was hard to complain about comfort food, especially when she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

Especially when she had a bare chested, barefoot man with damp hair and dark, watchful eyes making it for her.

They ate in his cozy kitchen, their chairs close together, her feet on his lap, his hand on her knee. Hayden texted that Reed had returned to the bar, though he’d refused to talk to anyone. He was going to crash on Hayden’s couch tonight and she had a few leads of places where he could stay after that.

And while Tabitha was glad he had people he could turn to, friends like Hayden and Patton and Greer, part of her wished he felt safe enough to turn to her.

Even though she understood why he didn’t.

After that, Miles steered the conversation to lighter topics. Ones less fraught with emotion—a coworker whose wife recently had a baby, the Ash Street bridge being closed due to construction work, Eli’s latest game.

It was so… normal, sitting in the quiet, the two of them in their own little world, talking about everything and nothing. So mundane and peaceful and wonderful. All the things she believed she’d never have.

Given to her by the man she’d never thought she deserved.

When they were done, they cleaned the kitchen together, then brushed their teeth. Now, she sat cross legged on his bed, watching Miles move around his room. He’d already checked and double checked that the front and back doors were locked. The windows all shut. Had gone through the house, making sure the lights were off.

He’d pulled back the covers on his bed. Fluffed the pillows. Set out clothes for tomorrow—including underwear and socks. Neatly lined up the items he’d taken out of his pants pockets earlier on his dresser; wallet, pen, small notebook, one of those multi-tools, loose change.

It was fascinating, watching his rituals. The little things he did to stay organized.

Humbling that she got to see these parts of him. That he openly shared them with her.

Turning, he crossed to stand in front of her, forcing her to tip her head back to hold his gaze. “Here,” he said, voice husky as he gently took the hairbrush she’d yet to use from her hand. “Let me.”

By the time her tired brain figured out what he’d said, what he meant, he’d climbed behind her on the bed. Scooted back so that he leaned against the headboard, legs straight, then patted the space between his spread thighs.

Dropping her gaze, she picked at the hem of his shirt against her thigh, her heart in her throat. “You don’t have to…”

When he didn’t respond, she forced her gaze up to meet his.

And almost melted at the understanding there.

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