Page 82 of Brazen Deceits

We sit in the half light of an abandoned parking lot, our breaths mingling. And I wait.

Chapter 35

Walker

It echoes in my head, “I choose you, you’re mine,” and I can hardly breathe. Is it really that simple? Do we just choose who we want to be with, and that’s it? Because if it’s that easy, sign me the fuck up.

What does that mean, though? What does this look like? I have this amazing, beautiful woman in front of me, and I know I want to be with her—no question. But I bring her home to meet my family, and what? Or she brings us all home to meet hers? It’s not like she can marry all of us. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.

Although it’s not like following the law is my strong suit.

I promised I’d try. And I want to. Keeping away from her, it’s been like yanking out a part of my soul. My campus studio is a mountain of destroyed canvases, a testament of her true role as my muse. I’ve spent hours looking over those photosfrom Chicago, the joy on her face. Pretend joy. It’s not what I want.

Only, neither of us was pretending—not entirely. We were sharing a mask, a joint way to move through the world, together, with no one guessing what we really were. Just two kids falling the fuck in love.

And I love her.

Damn it.

I love her.

Despite all odds, she chooses me. I don’t know if it’s love, but the way she’s looking at me, the tension in her fingers where they dig into my neck, the tears that are lying unshed in her eyes? It’s damn close to the same thing.

I love her.

I’ll try. For her, I’ll love her and ignore the rest.

She’s smart enough to figure it out. All I have to do is be with her, be her anchor, make her world a little more beautiful. It’s not much, but it’s important. I want to be important—to be enough—for someone.

And to Clara, I am.

I nod, not trusting myself with words, afraid I’ll blurt out the “L” word and scare her away.

“Oh thank God,” she murmurs, collapsing against my chest, and the relief in those three words, it makes my foolish heart sing.

I lift her chin for a kiss, savoring her lips, her floral scent, the hint of coffee and ketchup on her tongue. I relish each moment, each breath, hoarding them like the miser I am, each one filling what I thought was a bottomless hollowinside me looking to be wanted, to be needed, to be enough, just as I am.

We kiss. Just kiss, nothing else needed. My knees are jammed against the center console, my seat belt is digging into my shoulder, the heat is blasting against my ear, threatening to turn the thing into a freaking fried onion ring, and it’s perfect. Or maybe even better—it’s imperfectly beautiful.

Eventually, we pull back, both of us short of breath. “Let’s get your stuff, then we can head back to the house and celebrate, yeah?”

Her smile is genuine joy, and I wish I could capture it, keep it, bottle it up and pour it onto the canvas whenever I need it. “Deal,” she says.

She holds my hand the whole way to her parents’, pulling it across the car to kiss it, first the back of my hand, then each finger, slowly pulling them one by one into her mouth, her tongue circling, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes on the road instead of pulling over and hauling her into the back seat and fucking her until we both know we belong to each other. “Tease,” I mutter.

She laughs, patting the back of my hand like a perverted grandmother as we wind into her neighborhood. Small two stories line the street, one-car garages and shared driveways, blue collar, but prideful.

I look at the woman who came from here, and it fits.

We pull into her driveway, the lights on in the front room. Clara squeezes my hand. “Shit.”

“We can just go back, buy you new toothpaste or something.”

She taps her leg,one two three four five,pause,one two three four five,before throwing her shoulders back. “No. I can do this.”

“Would it be better if I stay in the car?”

She whips around to look at me. “God, no. Come with me. Please.”

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