Page 42 of Bound

“I think I get what that whirlwind is you’re experiencing.”

“Is it too much?” she asks. “We can go back?—”

I reach across the empty space, take her hand. “I don’t want to go back.”

Her throat works. “I don’t either,” she whispers. “I like this.” She nibbles at her bottom lip. “Just talking with you without all the…” She waves a hand.

Without all ofmybullshit.

“I like talking to you too.”

“Even though I’m a rambling virgin who’s terrible at small talk?” Her lips curve at the corners, teasing all over that question. Except…

For the note of seriousness in her eyes.

“How did that happen anyway?”

I almost regret the question the moment it slips off the tip of my tongue and flits into the air between us. But Ineedto know.

“The usual way,” she says lightly. “Only child to two deadbeats means I didn’t have a ton of time to practice, and then by the time I trusted Gran enough to let her in, we mostly discussed ice cream, proper grammar, and game shows on TV.”

I lightly squeeze her hand, knowing I should let her have that.

But I can’t.

“I want to hear more about your parents,” I say softly. “And Gran too, but I have to know, kitty cat, did someone hurt you and?—”

“You’re always worried about people hurting me,” she says quietly.

Most of all worried about me hurting her.

But also…deadbeat parents and a troubled childhood.

“You deserve to feel safe,” I remind her.

Another flicker across her eyes.

“What?”

“Gran used to say that all the time…” Her face softens. “Used to say it so often that I’d scoff…until I eventually felt safe with her.”

“You lived with her growing up?”

A shake of her head. “She’s not actually my biological grandmother. She—” Her lips press flat and release. “I probably shouldn’t be rambling about this on a first date.”

“Maybe not,” I admit, releasing her hand, but only so I can draw her closer, bring her body flush against mine, shoulder to shoulder, waist to waist, thigh to thigh. “Okay?” I ask and it’s more rasp than question because it feels right to be like this, right to have her settled against me, right to have her near.

“You ask now?” she says dryly.

I shrug. “Better late than never. Now,” I say tabling my question about intimacy, sensing that I need to know this just as much, if not more. “Tell me about your Gran.”

And…

Claire does.

Tells me about how her next door neighbor realized something was wrong and stepped in when she didn’t have to. She tells me about Gran making her feel safe and loved. Tells me how after Gran took her in, she never felt like a burden, never felt alone, never felt like she wasn’t welcome.

“She sounds incredible.”

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