Page 70 of Faking It

“I hate to do this because we’re having a tender moment, but you need to report it to the cops, Ana.”

Her head shoots up. “You must be out of your mind.”

“What if you’re not the first? What if he tries this with someone again?”

She backs off, fear stamped on her face. “I’m not going to the cops.”

Seeing her emotion, I understand at once, so I give her a reassuring look. “This isn’t Kentwood. You can actually get justice here.”

“No. These cops are all the fucking same.” Her mouth trembles. Fresh tears fill her eyes, then cascade down her cheeks. “They did nothing for me in Kentwood. They’ll sure as hell do nothing for me now.”

“Ana—”

“No!” she screams. “I’m not going! Say another word, and I’m getting out of here!”

The thought of her out there alone at this time of night makes me swallow my next words. “Okay.” I raise both hands as I approach her cautiously. “Not another word about the cops. I promise.”

She stares me up and down, warily. I stop with a short distance between us, my hands still raised. “I promise.”

A tiny nod, then a soft, “Okay,” then she swipes her cheeks.

“Can I hug you?”

With the ghost of a smile, she spreads her arms. “Thanks for asking.”

A soft sigh leaves her mouth as our bodies merge. I feel her heartbeat. It’s racing just like mine. She smells like fresh flowers. She feels like heaven. Hugging Ana feels like taking a run on a cool Sunday morning, then coming home to a warm cup of coffee. It’s so satisfying. In this moment, I feel content.

Maybe too content.

My body awakens from a deep slumber as her body rocks on me. The disturbing revelations of tonight gets tucked in a temporary folder. My only thought is of how amazing she feels. Soft. Warm. Perfect. I could hold her like this all night.

Soon, though, we ease apart. Ana glances down, then our eyes meet on the same beat. I’m wearing sweatpants. My erection isn’t hard to see.

Adjusting the front of my pants, I back away, giving her space. “I’m sorry, this is—”

“Fine.” She waves me off. “It’s fine.”

Need swirls within her blue orbs. She runs her tongue across her lower lip, takes a step back, then drags her fingers through her damp hair.

“Talk to me, Ana. What’s on your mind?” I murmur.

Silence. She keeps staring at me, then shakes her head. “I shouldn’t want this.”

“Want what?”

“You.”

That simple, whispered word sends a thrill up my spine. Keeping a neutral expression, I tuck my hands in the pocket of my sweatpants. From what I’ve learned about Ana, that admission took quite a lot from her.

“Why shouldn’t you want me?”

“This is a fake arrangement,” she reminds me. “We shouldn’t blur the lines.”

I want to point out that the lines have been blurred from the minute we left the party tonight. With everything we shared, there’s no way things will be the same between us. I understand, though. We shouldn’t cross the line. There’s too much at stake.

The problem with this situation is, knowing what’s at stake makes me want her more.

Yes, I’m that twisted.

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