Page 69 of Yours Truly

“No.” I smile, despite the fact I want to ride with him. He has to work harder. He needs to learn that things worth having require hard work. “I’ll meet you.” I smile, and so does he, and in my whole life, I have never, ever seen a man move so damn fast.

TWENTY

I’d do anything for this woman.

Trace

I have looked in my rearview mirror more in the last ten minutes than a man on a high speed getaway from the damn cops.

She’s still there, you idiot, my brain chants. I’ve never had this shiver of worry in my bones, this flicker of panic in my chest that maybe she won’t show up.

At the next stop light, I straighten in my seat behind the wheel and picture the small tattoo on my hip. Even new and raw, the thought of it makes my heart thump. My lips tingle and I realize I’m smiling.

A horn sounds from behind me, causing me to jerk my gaze up, seeing the light is now green. Glancing in the rearview, I see Ivy pointing at the green light, shaking her head.

I hit the gas, eager to get her to my house, lay her on my bed, spread her wide and feast on what I now know is undoubtedly the most beautiful, perfect cunt ever.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her lips, how soft they were, how sexy her moans were as she rode me. How fucking flushed and gorgeous she looked as she fell apart all over that toy, in my lap, teasing and pleasing me unlike ever before.

Flicking on my blinker, I nudge myself to think of things I have historically avoided.

The hard shit.

Like the fact that I really like Ivy. Not a fleeting thing where I use her energy to feed my endorphins and adrenaline, only to kick her to the curb once it passes.

I want Ivy.

I want her to be my girl. I want to show up at Ink Time every day with her, sit next to her, talk to her over the partitions, eat lunch with her at Goode’s, go to that farmers market everyone is always talking about. I want the life I envisioned years back, before fame and money.

I want to be a dad. I want to wear a wedding band and have a back seat full of groceries and a house full of responsibilities waiting after a long day.

I long for that.

And now that I’ve met Ivy, I’m no longer afraid to say I want that. I’m not afraid to chase it as fast as my legs will go, arms out, palms open.

But I’m afraid I’m not ready. I’m afraid the old me will claw his way through me and take over if I’m under any stress. And I don’t want to hurt Ivy.

I want to be good enough for her, brave enough to ask her to live our dreams out together. Strong enough to know she may say no, and I might have to live with that.

I don’t want to turn back to the booze and babes. If I quit lying to myself, I can admit that I never really wanted that. But I wanted to appear better. Bigger. Nonchalant. Unhurt. Unfazed.

And the stupid part is? I don’t even know if it worked, if I fooled the ones that hurt me, because I never checked to see.

They hurt me, and then I did everything in my power to hurt me, too.

I put my car in park and when I step out, the gravel crunching beneath my boots, dusk settling around us like a warm blanket, I realize this car has to go. It doesn’t fit this life, and it doesn’t fit me.

Ivy’s door slams closed and I turn to spot her, walking toward me through the purple glow of the setting sun, fireflies popping off in the haze, a gentle breeze lifting the ends of her hair.

She’s a masterpiece. Inked perfection in torn tights.

“You came,” I murmur, my voice hoarse and raw.

“Actually, you came,” she smirks, her slender shoulder bumping mine as she passes by. Stuck in my spot, I watch her hips sway as she climbs the steps to the front door. Wiggling her fingers, she peers over her shoulder at me, the porch light painting her in soft yellows, accentuating the wide curve of her lips, making her Cupid’s bow almost edible. “Now let us in so I can come, too.”

Leaping up the stairs, I fumble with my keys, and she laughs, the toes of our black boots kissing on the concrete. I drag my phone from my pocket and hover it above.

“What are you doing?” she questions, her hand on the doorknob, waiting for me to let us in.

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