Page 22 of What I Should Have Known

“Of course,” I replied, gripping the frame of the door.

She turned around, sweeping her hair over her shoulder, and padded away from me. Relief flooded my veins as rapidly as a spring thunderstorm came and went.

“Oh.” She paused but didn’t turn around.

My heart leapt to my throat; curdling nausea rose with it.

“If you just happen to have some man in your closet, don’t let your father see him leave,” she finished. “You know, just any man,” she added and quickly walked on, turned around the corner, then disappeared down the stairs.

I stared at the ghost of her figure, unable to move. Not a single muscle in my body twitched, no neuron fired. There was not a single thing in the world that triggered me to shut the door and get Bernie out of my closet.

“Well, fuck,” a man’s voice whispered through the muggy heat of the room.

Except for maybe that.

Within half a second, I shut the door and found myself standing directly in front of Bernie, who waited by the newly opened closet door. His brows raised as my chest brushed against his stomach.

“Apparently you didn’t need to hide me after all,” he continued with a wink.

“Don’t fucking wink. Don’t… Don’t do that,” I hissed as he peered down at me. “And, like, stop standing like that too.”

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, the vibrations oddly soothing my erratic heartbeat and drumming of prickling adrenaline. “I’m just standing.”

“Just put some clothes on and leave. Please. I cannot have my dad catch you.” I crossed my arms in front of my body, and Bernie’s eyes flickered away from mine. I slapped a hand over my cleavage. “Gah! You’re being so frustrating. Don’t look!”

He grinned to himself, pulling his eyes above my head, and then with footsteps as silent as death itself, he slipped around me. “You looked first, Kit Kat.”

“Looked first? You don’t have boobs.”

“I have a dick and balls, and I saw where your eyes went.”

“That is—” I closed my eyes. “You caught me off guard. That is not a fair comparison.”

“No? Then what would be?” he asked.

The crinkling of jeans met my ears as I remained facing the closet door, staring at the back of my eyelids.

“Hurry up,” I muttered, ignoring his taunting.

I didn’t understand what was going on. He seemed to be enjoying whatever this was. He seemed to be reveling in it. Whatever came out of his mouth was smooth and sharp, as quick as ice melting in the middle of summer. But what took the cake was his audacity. Only one other man had ever attempted stunts like Bernie was pulling today.

One day. All in one day. In just a single day, he’d crawled beneath my skin in a way that confused me.

“All right, Kat, you can look.” Bernie’s voice slipped through thoughts that were running in a circle of jumbled fog.

Turning around, I hesitantly pried my eyes open and sighed. “I was right.” I smiled, scanning his hardened frame. A tingle of intrigue slithered like a snake across my skin, and the shadow of his touch beneath my chin whispered against me again. Calloused, as hard as the muscling upon his body, his fingers wore memories of scars and work that didn’t come from sitting behind a desk.

“You were right about what?” he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets as his gaze softened. An almost endearing look settled upon his features. Thin lips, freckled cheeks and nose, red hair like that of a dark monarch butterfly about ready to flutter away from a branch sat in gentle waves upon his head. His hat, still resting on the cedar chest, had hidden the copper hue from me. It was a short, obvious military cut, but not as if he was about to leave, but rather if he had come home from a world of chaos and violence I’d never seen in my cushy life.

His brows loosened; the two creases between them I’d thought permanent disappeared as his eyes lingered on mine. Sunlight from the window over my bed danced across his gaze, shifting the mossy green into that of a bright lily pad color.

“The clothes fit,” I finally muttered in response, wanting another moment caught in whatever strange swirling of a rushing whirlpool that flowed around us.

The edges of his lips twitched upwards, but he said nothing. His eyes slowly tracked down my figure, tracing every curve, every arc and sweep of my body. Normally, such an obvious action would’ve raised my hackles, but there was something that held me in place. As if I wanted him to look. As if letting a man like him drink me in crafted me into the very woman I knew I wanted to be.

I’d seen that look before. Not directed at me, at least not that I’d noticed, but there was nothing clouding the waters around us for it to be directed at anyone else.

“I should go,” he whispered, clearly not moving to break the moment.

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