Page 130 of A Little Broken

Observing Paxton’s profile in the flickering orange light, I take in the fullness of his lips. The strength in his jaw. The tiny pinch of his brows as he strums a particularly hard combination of notes. He’s nothing like him. At least, not on the surface. But beneath the cocky rockstar persona, I can’t help but notice the way their souls match. Not entirely. But little things. Tiny, seemingly insignificant similarities. Or maybe I’m reaching. Maybe I’m desperate to replace Archer. Maybe I’m desperate to justify my connection with Pax.

Without looking up from his guitar, Paxton notes, “You’re staring at me awfully hard, Birthday Girl.”

He’s right. I am. And even though I’ve been called out, I can’t stop. “I know what you want from me, Pax.”

“I mean, I kind of spelled it out for you.”

I ignore his thinly-veiled sarcasm, and push, “You know what I mean, Pax.”

The strumming quiets, amplifying the tension between us. But he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t push me or question me or challenge me or…anything. He simply stares, waiting for me to take the lead. To make a decision. To do…something. And I want to. I want to do something, but if I do, what then? What happens next? What happens when one night turns into two? I’ve never gotten this far. Not with anyone.

“Pax,” I whisper. “I’m not…I’m not the girl you think I am, and the thought of ruining whatever perception you have of me, only to leave you disappointed, it’s…it’s more than I can take.”

“Not gonna disappoint me, Tatum.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. It isn’t possible to disappoint someone with no expectations. Only a chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“And what if I can’t even give you that, Pax? What if the only thing I have is…” I lift a shoulder, then motion to my boobs. “A great rack.”

His full lips tilt up in satisfaction. “Itisa great rack.”

I bite back my amusement, grateful for his sense of humor and how contagious it is. “Glad you agree.”

“You think I’m dumb enough to argue with you, Tatum Taylor?” He shakes his head and sets the guitar aside. “I’m not asking for anything. Not really. Only a chance.”

A chance. He makes it sound so simple. He has no idea.

The moonlight shines above us while the crackle of the fire and familiar rhythm of the ocean drowns out the charged silence, bringing with it the promise of peace. And it isn’t fair because I haven’t felt peace in…in who knows how long? I shift forward on the blanket, unsure what to do or where to go or what to say. He’s close. So close, yet so far. And suddenly, I hate how small the blanket feels. How I wish it would shrink even more,so I could justify shifting closer to him to see if he smells like cinnamon again.

“Give me a chance, Tatum,” he whispers.

“And if I’m not enough?”

His movements are slow, calculated, as he closes the distance between us, inch by torturous inch, before letting his gaze drop to my mouth, and I swear I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears. “Then give me this.” He brushes his lips against mine, stealing a kiss, making my toes curl into the sand at the edge of the blanket as his mouth moves over mine.

Give me this.

So, I do.

And instead of fighting it, fighting him, I give in, letting go for the first time in…ever. And it feels strange. And scary. And warm. And almost…right. Because I can give him this. I can give him my body. I can give him my time. I can give him anything he wants. Anything but my heart. Because the stupid organ in my chest? It doesn’t belong to me. Hasn’t belonged to me since I was a little girl, and even though I’d do anything to get it back so I could give it to someone else, I don’t think I can. The realization stings, but I push it away, praying my body and my time and everything else I have to offer is enough.

Please be enough.

My fingers find the edge of his shirt, and I tug him closer, pressing my front to his. He drags his tongue along the seam of my mouth, and I open for him, craving him desperately. When his tongue dips into my mouth, I suck softly. He groans, shifting closer.

Yes. Give me this.

I lean back, and he follows, climbing onto my body until every inch of him pushes me into the sand. It’s going to be a bitch to get out of my hair, but I don't care. I only want to feel him. Weaving my fingers along the hair at the nape of his neck,I spread my legs, cradling his waist and the hard line of his erection.

He smiles against my mouth. “I think you like me.”

“I like your house.”

His smile grows, and he steals another kiss, grinding into me.

“And your musical ability,” I add.

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