Page 68 of Past the Broken Bridges

“Because you deserve…” I shake my head, trying to explain this the best way I can, combing my fingers through some of her loose hair and moving it out of her face. “You deserve the kind of guy who’s going to give you the world. A future.”

Sawyer looks down, her hands trailing over my front before her fingers curl into the cotton of my shirt. “Not everybody wants that kind of future. Maybe I want…”

I wait for her to finish. “What?”

She lets out a sober breath. “Easy.”

Closing my eyes, I soak that in.

Sawyer wants casual.

With me.

“What are you doing to me?” I all but groan. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about this sort of thing. If an attractive girl wants to have sex, I’m almost always down. But this isn’t some random chick I met at a party or at the store.

It’s Sawyer.

My neighbor.

My classmate.

“I told Dawson that it wasn’t going to work,” she says.

“You what?”

“I didn’t want to lead him on,” she explains, lashes fluttering. “It wasn’t fair to him.”

She turned him down.

For me.

My dick is still painfully hard from the simplest of touches, telling me not to shut this down. It’s not the only organ that’s begging me to go through with this either, which makes it a hell of a lot more dangerous.

Hesitantly, she puts her hands on my chest, her thumbs rubbing the skin above my pecs rhythmically.

The movements stop. “If you’re not interested—”

I cut her off before she can say something stupid. “Trust me. I’m interested.” I’m half tempted to press her body against me again so she can feel the truth behind the statement. “That’s not why I’m hesitating.”

“Then why?”

I continue. “Well, the biggest reason is the person who did this to me.” I point at my face, watching her eyes drift back to the gnarly bruise. “He’s my friend.”

“I’m not interested in Dawson.”

That doesn’t change the fact he’s called me out for going after the same girls as him in the past. Even if Sawyer told him to move on, that doesn’t mean he will. He’ll retaliate.Use this as an excuse to dive deeper into the hole that he’s gotten himself into. “I’ve hurt him once before.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. Then, “What was her name?”

I don’t bother asking how she knows it’s a she we’re talking about. “Desiree. It was a mistake I regret to this day. But we were younger and dumber. I didn’t love her.”

She doesn’t comment.

“After last time,” I conclude, “this would seem like I’m doing it on purpose. The guy has his issues. I don’t want to contribute to them.”

I think she’ll understand, maybe back off, make it so I don’t have to choose, when she does the opposite. She makes it harder. Both the temptation and other things. “Casual doesn’t have to mean anything. We can still be friends. Neighbors. Peers. We don’t have to tell anybody.”

She wants whatever this is to be a secret. I think she’s underestimating how well people catch on to things.

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