Page 37 of Stuffed

"Tessa—"

"No, listen to me." Her eyes are fierce behind those glasses. "I've spent years watching you hide behind those walls. Years wanting to show you that you don't have to. That you're enough exactly as you are."

I lean forward, resting my forehead against hers. "I don't deserve you."

"Good thing that's not your decision to make." She kisses me softly. "I choose you, Zane Mercer. Walls and all."

The kiss deepens as snow swirls around us. When we finally break apart, I press my forehead gently against hers.

"Come home with me," I whisper against her lips.

"I thought you wanted to take things slow?"

"I do." I kiss her again, unable to help myself. "But I also want to warm you up properly."

She laughs. "Smooth talker."

"Only for you, baby girl." I stand, pulling her up with me.

Once we’re back at my place, I resist the urge to drag her upstairs. Instead, I crack open a bottle of wine and both of us settle in the living room with a fresh glass. She curls into my side on the couch, her presence both soothing and unsettling in how right it feels. The city lights cast a soft glow across her features as she looks up at me.

"Tell me something," she says quietly. "Why did you skip so much school back then? The whole bad boy thing…"

I tense, taking a long drink of wine to buy time. The truth to that answer feels dangerous. Not because I did anything but because of how stupid it all was.

"Would you believe insecurity?" The words feel rusty, unused.

"You?" She props herself up to look at me, those blue eyes seeing too much as always. "But you were always so confident."

"Fake confidence." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I wasn't like Asher—natural at sports, easy with people. I was good at numbers, got bored in class. It was easier to push people away than let them see that."

"So you became the rebel instead?"

"Pretty pathetic, right?" My fingers trace patterns on her arm, needing the connection. "I've actually gone back, you know. Apologized to my old teachers for being such a pain in their ass."

Something in my chest loosens when she doesn't laugh. Instead, she asks softly, "Really?"

"Mrs. Henderson actually cried. Said she always knew there was more to me than my attitude." I swallow hard, remembering.

She hesitates, and I already know what's coming. "What about college? I heard you got kicked out?"

My chest rumbles with dark amusement. "Deserved it too. Was running quite the little enterprise—taking tests, writing papers. Anything for a price."

"Always the businessman," she teases gently, no judgment in her voice.

"More like always the hustler. Some of my early ventures weren't exactly aboveboard." I pull her closer, waiting for her to pull away. She doesn't. "I’m not proud of it now."

"But it led you here," she says softly, "to who you are today."

My arms tighten around her instinctively. "There you go again, doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Seeing the good in everything. In me."

She rises up to kiss me softly, and something inside me breaks and mends all at once. "Because it's always been there. Behind all those walls you built."

I kiss her deeply, trying to pour everything I can't say into it. Because how do you put into words the way a person makes you feel? The way they see past every defense you've built? That they make you believe in second chances?

---