Page 130 of Reverse

“Truth?” He lifts to hover over me, sporting a devilish grin. “That was tame compared to some of the crap I’ve been exposed to.”

“That’s . . .” I shake my head, “I can’t even imagine what that would look like.”

He turns on his side and props his head on his hand, eyes glittering down on me. “My parents tried their best to shield me, but I’ve snuck into far worse.” He sobers with his next admission. “I’m no saint and won’t ever claim to be. I’ve done my fair share of questionable shit over the years. But since I’ve been on the road, I’ve created a new norm. After we play, I write, work out, order some good food—realfood—shower, and crash.” He holds my chin with gentle fingers commanding my full attention. “And now, when I can work it in, I’ll add my new favorite pastime,” his accompanying smile lights my chest, “making my beautiful girlfriend come so hard I put her to sleep.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Moving too fast?” He groans before collapsing back against his pillow. I catch his gaze on me in the mirrored ceiling above us as he addresses my reflection. “Are you really going to keep denying this didn’t get serious back in Seattle? I did patiently wait eight fucking weeks in between dates.”

Sliding my leg over his torso, I lift to straddle him. Soaking in his every detail, I trace his beautifully healed tattoo with my fingers. So much is clear to me now since I’ve allowed my rejection cloud to disperse. Part of that clarity is the fact I’ve never in my life wanted anything more than to keep the connection I feel with the naked man beneath me.

“No. I’m not denying it. My reality is onthis sideof the glass now, remember?” I admonish with ease, utterly done with that aspect of it, no matter how much the potential consequences scare me.

Easton’s eyes flit with relief. “Finally,Jesus.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He runs his fingers gently through my damp hair before pushing it behind my naked shoulder. After an explorative and thorough shower, we changed the sheets with a spare set we found in a closet. After a handful of hours of sleep, we woke up hungry, only to soil them all over again. We’ve spent most of the day exhausting each other before collapsing, naked and entangled while grabbing cat naps.

Rinse and repeat.

When day turned into late afternoon, we dragged ourselves into the shower to wash off one last time with the intent to dress and get me in the direction of home. Joel had picked up my suitcase for me and checked me out of my hotel before delivering it to this room. Even with my luggage waiting nearby—and a long workday looming tomorrow—we only managed to make it as far as the bed, wearing nothing but our jewelry. Admiring his now, I run my finger along the smooth black cross resting against his chest. “Speaking of messiahs. When did you become religious?”

“I’m not.”

“So then, not a believer?”

He tilts his head. “I believe in the soul,” his response thoughtful. “I’ve heard too many bleed and crack through my speakers not to, so it’s only natural I believe that a higher power created them. But if there’s a religion I subscribe to—”

“It’s music,” I finish for him, and he dips his chin as he pinches the cross between his fingers.

“This is a talisman of defense to ward off evil gifted by an overprotective mother. I guess you could say ‘it’s a Stella thing.’”

When I tighten my grip on his hips with my thighs, he frowns. “What? Is that more of a deal-breaker than me not liking the Cowboys?”

“It’s the Longhorns, Crowne. Get it straight. And no, it’s not that at all. I feel exactly the same. I don’t buy into all the condemnation in organized religion, but I do believe in God and love. So, I guess ifIhave religion, it’s human-interest stories because that’s what feeds my soul and makes me a believer in the miraculous.”

“Okay, so we agree there, which is a good thing.”

“Right.”

He palms my thighs. “So why are you bruising my hips?”

“It’s just . . . what you said afterward. It took me by surprise.”

“What did I say?”

“Don’t get weird, but ‘it’s a Stella thing’ reminded me of our parents.”

“Don’t get weird?” He rolls his eyes upward. “We’re fucking naked, in bed, and you’re thinking of our parents.”

“Unfortunately . . . yeah.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“It’s just that my dad used to say that exact thing to your mom verbatim when he was wooing her. ‘It’s a Stella thing’ wastheirthing, an inside joke between them I read in some of the emails.”

He grimaces. “Their history really fucks with you, doesn’t it?”

---