Page 62 of Stay with Me

So I lifted the frame and turned it around, facing him. “This is what I used to look like. I mean, yeah, I was like eight or nine in this picture or whatever, but this is what Iusedto look like.”

Jax’s lashes lowered for maybe a fraction of a second.

I started blabbing again. “I won trophies and crowns and sashes and money. There were more—hundreds of crowns and trophies, but I got mad once. I was fourteen or fifteen—anyway, I was in high school and threw them out the window. They broke. Mom flipped out. Went on a bender for days. It was bad. There wasn’t any food in the house or any detergent to clean my clothes.”

His brows furrowed together as he stared at menow,not the picture of me backthen. “Did she do that often?”

I glanced down at my photo, all blond ringlets and big smile, with big fake white teeth—flippers, they were called flippers, and I hated the way they felt and tasted. The fake teeth had hurt my mouth, but when I wore them Mom said I wasbeautiful. All the judges said I wasbeautiful. I won awards because of the stupid teeth. Dad ... he would just shake his head. “What?”

“Leave you for days without food and basic shit to take care of yourself.”

Shrugging, I shook my head. “Clyde would usually come over and stay with me. Or I’d stay with him. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“That’s a big deal, honey,” he said quietly.

My gaze lifted to his and there it was again, thatsomethingin his stare I didn’t understand but wanted to. I lifted the photo again, practically shoving it in his face. “I used to be really pretty,” I whispered, sharing the secret. “See? I used—”

“There is no ‘used’ to be.” He snatched the frame out of my hand, and my mouth dropped open as he tossed it. The photo whizzed through the air, bouncing off a cushion and landing harmlessly on the couch. “You’re really fucking pretty now.”

I opened my mouth and I laughed real loud. Might’ve even snorted. “You’re so ...”

“What?” His lips turned down.

“You’re so ... fucking nice,” I finished, raising my arms in a grand gesture. “You’re nice. And you’re a liar.”

“What?” he repeated.

I plopped down on the couch, suddenly tired and maybe a little dizzy. “I’m not really pretty.”

He stared down at me. “I just said you’re really pretty now. So you are really pretty. Fucking end of discussion on that.”

My mouth opened to point out all the reasons why that wasn’t true, but then I shrugged. It was nice of him. I’d take it. “You’re nice,” I stated again. “This was nice. Thank you for doing this with me. I mean, I’m sure you could be doing like loads more interesting stuff than babysitting me while I got drunk for my first time.”

He tilted his head to the side. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

One side of his lips kicked up. “Anytime you want to drink, I’m here for you.”

Well, that was nice, too. Out of nowhere, a knot formed in my chest. It felt wet and messy. “Really?”

He nodded. “Like I said, you’re safe with me. Whenever. Seriously. Whatever you want to explore, you’ll always be safe with me.”

Those words ... oh gosh, those words unhinged something in me. Not that I had felt unsafe. Well, things weren’t warm and fuzzy when I lived with Mom, and shit had obviously gotten hairy a time or two.

“Actually, you know ... I think I can help you knock off a few of those other things on your list,” he continued, and that lopsided grin spread into a full smile that could stop hearts.

I wasn’t really listening to him, because I was staring at him as that knot moved from my chest to my throat, and it was most definitely wet and messy. Jax was more than just a hottie to end all hotties. He was nice—nicer than Jase, probably even Cam and even Brandon.

He said I was safe with him.

And he said I was really fucking pretty.

I sprang up and toward him. Didn’t even stop to think about what I was doing, but I was up on my feet, and less than a second later, I was throwing my arms around Jax’s neck.

My sudden movement caught him off guard and he stumbled back a step before he steadied himself. A moment passed, and then his arms circled me, folding around my back.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice muffled against his chest—his really hard chest. “I know you said not to thank you, but thank you.”

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