Page 38 of I Still Love You

“You’re kidding,” I breathe out, mostly to myself. I scan the pages, flipping to where Regional Sports Therapy is listed, and sure enough, his name is there.

“And from the looks of the last page,” he murmurs again. “We’ll be neighbors.”

Garrett went as far as drawing up a map of how they’ll set up the free clinic. It explains that we’ll be outside—weather permitting—and the layout directly reflects that of the hospitals. Which means…our stands will be next to one another.

I blink and hope I’m seeing it wrong because I’m unsure how I feel about being clinic neighbors for not just one day but two.

Garret speaks up. “Alright. That’s all I have for you today. Go home. Enjoy your evenings.” Everyone shifts, moving at once to dart out the door, their murmurs growing louder as each second passes. It’s like we’re in high school again, being released from the gymnasium after a pep rally. I realize how slow it takes to get anywhere when there are a ton of people ahead of you. So, I stay where I’m at, even when Sierra pushes her way ahead.

People on the other side of the room move slowly and file in behind the line, waiting to leave. Just as I’m almost in the clear to move forward, a younger girl trips over what I assume is her shoelace and stumbles forward. Her arms frantically unwind from her side, and for a second, I’m nervous she’s going to hit me with one.

Until two firm hands grip my waist and yank me backward. By not heading for the exit, I realize I indirectly kept Luke barricaded behind me.

The girl careens forward, and just before she’s about to fall, her friend catches her by her scrubs and steadies her. I would be grateful for said friend saving her—I mean, I am—but the stumbling girl has already put me in a predicament that has me breathing in short, shallow breaths. Has me incredibly aware of the warm, possessive hands gripping my body. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to get a word out.

Luke’s fingers pinch into my thin waist, taking me back to times when we were intimate, and no—I can’t go there. As much as I want to fade into the bliss of our past, cave to the way it tickles my mind, curling its finger at me to come along, I shouldn’t.

It only intensifies when he doesn’t pull his hands away. They remain gripped at my sides as the rest of the hospital staff filter out, even as the girl apologizes and continues on. When the last person looks back, shrugging over the fact we’re not behind her, and allows the heavy door to slam shut, my stomach jolts. Now it’s just us.

Luke and Layla. Two parts of a love story that went up in flames. All because of me. I glance down, noting how I’m clenching my packet so tightly that there might not be readable pages after we go our separate ways. I absorb the piping hot static that fills the room faster than I can give my lungs air. Luke is a blistering sauna, and it lures me into him, begging me to come closer and closer and closer.

I gulp. Do I pull away? Back up? Do I say something? I should. I know that. But I’m enjoying the weight of his touch on my waist—even if I am playing with fire.

My train of thought cuts in half when his hands squeeze into me once and let go. He twists in front of me smoothly, blocking my path. His green gaze eats me up, and in the blink of an eye, his demeanor darkens, his hands claiming my hips again as he nudges me flush against the wall. His fingers move deathly slow, scrunching the hem of my top into a spiral. My top pulls higher, his fingers replacing the half-inch gap where my skin touches the air just above the elastic band of my bottoms.

My breath catches in my throat.

My hands crunch the packet close to my chest.

And my eyes flutter shut.

If this were any other man, I’d crawl out of my skin to get away. But this is Luke, my Luke. I’m ashamed to admit that there’s a part of me that’s been desperate for this form of affection from him. Frenzied to know if I awaken him as I have in the past and if his touch still does something to me.

I get in half a breath when he moves, pressing his forehead against the wall next to my head. We’re close. So damn close, it wouldn’t take much for either of us to cross the ultimate line, the one that leads to a past of infatuation, and it makes my stomach flip.

I can’t believe I’m thinking about this, visualizing him brushing his hand against the tiny piece of fabric that’s covering the most sensitive part of me. This is the same man who wants me gone, who took his love for me out to sea, tied it to an anchor, and dropped it into the open ocean. Yet why can’t I help but savor the way his hands feel? Why can’t I stop thinking about both of us turning our heads and resting our lips on each other, if only for just a second?

My teeth grip into my lip like a nasty claw, and I relish the way it keeps me grounded. I don’t want to break this fragile moment, but Luke shifts and peels his forehead from the wall. He takes up my space, the oxygen between us in one heavy breath. It’s gratifying and terrifying at once. Where are we supposed to go after this? I can’t seem to find an answer, but I don’t care to. I’m worried if I move a muscle, he’ll pull away and consider this the third best mistake of his life.

The second? Proposing to me.

The first? Approaching me in that coffee shop.

I remain as still as a tree in a forest with zero wind chill. We’re both wound tight, his shoulders rigid and tense. If we move, we’ll break, shatter against the ground below us.

It’s both chilling and electrifying.

And I want more of it, of this, of us.

Damn it. How could I leave this? Leave him?

He reluctantly pulls a hand from my waist and slides it up the side of my body, moving along me languidly and harshly. Quiet but calculating—and oh so careful—he controls his movements. And so, when he curls his fingers into the neckline of my top and yanks it toward the edge of my shoulder, I shudder, anticipating his mouth.

This is so unlike the Luke I’ve come to know since being back. So unlike the person who glared me down in front of Lone Hospital, who spit nasty, unfair words in my direction.

His nose moves along the curve of my neck until it’s resting atop my shoulder. Through the descent, he smells me, and I do all I can to stay upright by biting my lip harsher. I wish and pray for it to keep my feet rooted to the floor, but when Luke’s lips brush against my skin, when he opens his mouth and drags his teeth along my shoulder, I damn near combust.

He hates me. Loathes me. Wants me gone. Still, it feels so, so good. My lip pops free from the assault of my teeth, and my lips part. I sink back into the wall, tipping my head away to give him more of an opening.

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