Page 45 of Pretty Heartache

“I don’t know about not knowing who I am,” she confesses. “But I do know I’ve been unfortunate to live in the existence of constantly feeling alone. I know what it feels like to have been treated a certain way by almost everyone in my life, which has left me with the privilege of constantly questioning everyone’s intentions.”

“I’ve heard LA has that effect.” I tap my finger on the arm of the chair. “It’s a city full of people wearing masks.”

“It isn’t just LA. I’ve felt that way here. In some ways, I think I’ve felt more alone at home than anywhere else.” Darkness clouds her eyes, the weight of our conversation weighing heavy on her. I can’t describe the shift. How and when did this become a topic of feeling alone?

I understand her in a way I never have, and again, I’m left wanting to know more.

“Do you feel alone here? With me?” I dare to ask. My voice deepens, carrying with it the weight of my question. The words fall from my tongue before I’m given the chance to swallow them back.

Her sparkling eyes widen. The air turns thick, and my chest stills. There’s a magnetic pull to Adeline. I want to examine her soul. I want to let her in. But there’s a part of me that holds back, afraid of what it might mean if she says she doesn’t feel alone here with me.

Sensing the tension and heat in the air, she tosses the blanket aside and stands, folding it without answering my question. She turns her back to me. I study her, knowing there’s something building between us. I just don’t know what it is yet, and I’m not sure I’m ready to admit it. All I know is that every time I’m around her, I don’t want her to leave.

I consider my own question. Do I feel alone withher?

The answer is an easy no, but I keep it to myself.

I stand as she drapes the folded blanket over the back of the couch.

“I was going to head to the bath remodel store to pick out some tile for the upstairs bathrooms. I thought you’d like to come with me.”

Her shoulders visibly rise before she turns around. She smiles. “Sure.” Her focus shifts to my hands undoing my tie and top button of my shirt. “I’ll go change, then we can head out.”

She swallows, her throat visibly bobbing. She blinks and brushes away her hair. “I’ll go and freshen up.”

After getting changed into jeans and a T-shirt, I meet Adeline out in the driveway, sighing with relief when I see she’s still wearing her black leggings and fitted white shirt.

I walk over to my bike and grab the helmet sitting on the back seat.

When I turn around, her eyes are spread wide. She chuckles, but her eyebrows are knitted as she shakes her head and takes a step back. “Oh, no. Not the bike again.”

I laugh, loving the way I make her squirm. Heat pools in my lower stomach when I look down the length of her legs and close the distance between us.

“You aren’t wearing a skirt this time,” I say, standing in front of her. “You’ll be fine.”

My cock jumps at the thought of having her thighs wrapped around me again.

Her dark lashes rest above her cheeks as her eyes flutter on a sigh. She opens them again, her mouth falling open, too, before she surrenders, standing still in front of me.

I gently slip the helmet over her head. The visor is propped open, revealing the top half of her face. Her eyes stare into mine, and I’m crumbling on the inside. It’s been years since I’ve felt this way when looking at someone. I adjust the helmet on her head and bend my knees, lining my face with hers.

“How’s that? Is it okay?”

“Yes,” she says, quietly.

I spin around and place my own helmet on before straddling the bike. Adeline climbs on behind me without another word, then she slips forward, pressing her body to mine.

I close my eyes and focus on my breathing when she slinks her arms around my waist, gripping onto my chest. She doesn’t fist my shirt like she did the first night she rode my bike. Her hands are pressed flat against my chest this time, one hand pressed to my right rib, the other over my heart. Her body is still warm behind me, but it’s different. She isn’t bare like she was before. Her leggings provide an extra barrier between us, and I’m thankful for it. I don’t need the distraction again.

But who am I kidding?

It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing.

She’s always a distraction.

FOURTEEN

I can’t get the conversation I had with Micah back home out of my head. I think about it the entire time we walk up and down the aisles of the bath remodeling store.

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