Page 12 of Scoring Grey

I lay my brush down. “Yeah, I suppose you don’t need to chase girls when there’s an endless supply of puck bunnies everywhere you go.” I shouldn’t have said those words. Nothing good comes from accusing him of being a man whore. They’re a low blow, but ask anyone who knows me, and they’ll tell you. I have a tough time keeping my mouth shut even when I know better. I suppose it comes with the territory of wearing my heart on my sleeve. Either way, my comment is vile and more offensive than whatever double meaning I read into earlier with his.

“This is a subject I don’t care to talk about, but it seems like one you need to hear so we can move past this.” His hand reaches for my chin, and he tips it up, bringing my eyes to his. “I fuck Eloise, that’s it.” I swallow hard as a place that doesn’t deserve to hurt aches. A tick in his jaw tells me he hates the admission as much as I dislike its existence. “The women I’ve been with knew the stakes. They understood what I wanted and what I didn’t. I’ll say it as long as it takes for you to believe it. I’ve only ever wanted one girl. She’s stubborn as hell; her head and her heart are always fighting for the last word, and neither is rarely in my favor, and I am but a fool hooked on being the trouble that fuels her flame just so I can stand in its light.”

The ice around my heart thaws at his words. How could it not? “Cal, I?—”

“You don’t need to say anything…” He runs his thumb along my jaw. “I just wanted you to know.” His hand falls away, and he nods to the painting. “Do you want to stay in and paint, or would you like to go out?”

“If we stay in and I paint, what will you do?”

“Grab a beer, flip on the fireplace, and sit on that couch and live out a dream I’ve been praying for—for far too long.”

The smile that tugs at my mouth can’t be helped, especially when I see it mirrored on him. He picks up one of my brushes and hands it to me.

“Would you like me to bring you a drink while you perfect that bench?”

“Stop…” I draw out as I swipe the brush from his hand and swiftly swat him in the stomach. “I’ll take a vodka and cranberry juice, and no more antics.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smarts as he starts toward the kitchen. “Your wish is my command as long as it keeps you in that chair and under my roof.”

I shake my head. He can’t help himself, but damn if I’m not a sucker for every word.

Two vodkas and cranberries later and an hour past a majestic sunset, I’m hungry. I spin on my stool. “Do you want to grab something to eat around the corner? I noticed a tapas bar on our walk home yesterday.”

Cal tosses his phone on the cushion beside him. “You want to go out?”

I lift my hands above my head, pulling my fingers back to stretch my wrist. The move makes my shirt rise, putting my stomach on display, and he notices. I quickly drop my arms and tug at my shirt.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, blondie. Relax. I might not be able to touch you, but I can’t help but look.”

He’s saying that now, but from this distance, he can’t see that I’m not the girl he remembers. I may not be curvy, but pregnancy didn’t come and go without leaving its mark. I tuck my hair behind my ear and act like I suddenly need to find my phone, which I know is sitting right beside the glass I’ve been sipping, in hopes of evading his knowing glare. “Going out sounds good. I could stretch my legs.” I shove my phone in my back pocket before capping some of the paint tubes.

When I reach for one of the brushes, his hand covers mine. “Don’t worry about this. Let me take care of it.” My entire body freezes as my skin pebbles from his touch. There is no hiding the effect he has on me, and when my eyes trail up his thick, muscled arm, it’s clear he’s not immune to me either. Our eyes meet, and he picks up my hand. “Eloise, I need you. It’s a cruel form of torture being alone with you in the same room and not feeling close to you.” My tongue darts out, and I moisten my lips, but before I can respond, he pulls me against his front and wraps his free arm around my waist, making my breath hitch.

“Before you tell me no, just hear me out. I know your boundaries. I’ll respect them, but please have mercy on me and let me touch you…” He releases my hand and brushes my hair back, his eyes never leaving mine. “Let me hold you. Trust me to be what you need and nothing you don’t.”

My eyes hold his a few seconds longer before I nod my consent. The second I do, both hands wrap around my waist as his head falls to the crook of my neck, and he inhales deeply.

“I’ve missed you so damn much,” he speaks softly against my neck, his lips so close I can almost feel their softness as his warm breath washes over me, and a delicious trill runs down my spine.

He pulls me closer so I’m flush against his front, and I allow it, relishing the comfort I’ve always found in his arms. Even when I was blinding mad at him and knew I had pushed him well past the point of no return, I’d still choose these arms over another. He just didn’t know it. I let him hold me for long moments and slowly forget about all this madness and let myself fall, but only for a few short seconds because anything more is too dangerous.

I run my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck as I get ready to let go, and a muffled groan rises from the depth of his chest as his fingers press into my hips a little harder, his embrace tightening. “I should go if we’re going to grab something to eat. I need to get my purse from my place.”

“I just got you. I’m not ready to let go.”

“I’m not asking you to let go forever, just for five minutes while I grab my purse,” I tease lightheartedly. I’m not lying. As much as touching him burns, I welcome the flame. It reminds me that the fire that existed once was real.

“Your money isn’t good here. You don’t need it.”

My sweater rises and his bare arm brushes against the skin on my lower back; his earthy scent wraps around me, threatening to steal my resolve. I know he’s not pushing me. He’s not breaking his promise, but instead, it’s me who cannot resist him. It’s why I set boundaries to begin with. I unwrap myself and brace my hands on his biceps.

“Cal, please don’t make this harder on me than it already is.”

His hold loosens as he relents. “I should tell you I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not when hearing that letting me go pains you at all.”

“You want a truth? I’ll give you one, and maybe with it, you’ll understand why I have to set boundaries.” I take a step, and he sets his jaw, his eyes warily studying mine. I clench my fist and find my nerve. “Not one day of leaving you has ever been easy.”

“Then—”

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