Page 32 of Wreck Me
Isla had fussed over me, making a show of tucking me into her bed—sheactuallypushed the blankets under my body so I was secured in a cocoon of warmth—before she hurried off into the kitchen to make us something to eat. My stomach rumbled embarrassingly loud, interrupting our after-sex bliss as we laid in a heap of tangled limbs.
As she walked out of the room, it almost felt like she took my heart with her.
She was just a few feet away, but having her out of my sight and not next to me ripped a possessive gut reaction through me and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Mostly, I had been the guy in the background, the wallflower, watching everyone around me date and play the field, but I always refrained, never having the urge to bring someone else into my mess.
College had opened up doors in the beginning—I wasn't ashamed I had pushed off my metaphorical wall and gone a little crazy getting my dick wet. How could I not succumb to temptation when women suddenly flocked to me and showed me attention? For once, I wasn’t being ignored.
Apparently, I had a ‘bad boy’ appeal that made college women a little feral.
I didn’t tell them this ‘bad boy’ was actually anobodywho had zero fucks to give and was just trying to survive. They didn’t care for my backstory anyway, so why wouldn’t I try to find some sort of comfort, balls deep in a willing woman or two?
Point was, when I was around Isla, I felt a sense of contentment I hadn’t felt in years.
Meaningless hookups never equated to anything more than plugging a phone number into my phone and empty promises to call when I wouldn’t. Getting their numbers was just standard procedure. They didn’t actually expect me to call, and they didn’t really want me to either.
I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had cared for me—hell, the last time anyone had cared for me—and it felt good, even if it was just a simple act of making sure I was comfortable in her bed.
Shit, she even cared enough to undress me once she realized I was soaked from the rain, and immediately led me to a hot shower to warm up.
Being cared for felt good. It felt better than good. It felt like I didn’t want to take it for granted or lose it.
Isla deserved more than a guy like me, but I would do everything I could to keep her and never make her feel the doubt she had earlier today.
I was such a fucking idiot. We were still in the getting-to-know-you phase. The no-label, therefore, no reassurance phase. I should have realized insecurities would surface and doubt would set in. She didn’t fully trust me yet, and honestly, for good reason.
She didn’t know the things I hid from her.
The insecurities and fears I pushed down to hide deep within me.
If she knew, she’d leave.
Because with the Hart men, history seemed to repeat itself with every generation.
I’ve vowed to break the cycle, and never become like them, but the thought that Icouldstill kept me in a chokehold.
* * *
A crashof thunder rattled through the apartment, jolting me awake. My eyes snapped open as a burst of light illuminated the room, feeling dangerously close as the storm raged just outside the window. Isla stirred slightly, scooting closer to me and nuzzling into my side further.
So far, sleeping next to her had been the most restful night's sleep I’d had in as long as I could remember. When she was next to me, there were no fitful bouts of tossing and turning, and the nightmares were suppressed. It felt incredible to wake—even if it was only after a short sleep—without a sheen of sweat coating my body and my heart racing. The nightmares weren’t a nightly occurrence, but the number of times I’d dreamt of blood was alarming—even for someone who wanted to work on crime scenes.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I craned my head to check the time. The small clock on the bedside table read four in the morning and, as I yawned, I noticed the plate sitting next to the clock. Curiosity and hunger egged me on, and without disturbing Isla, I pulled the arm I had wrapped beneath her free and turned, edging closer to see what she had made.
I was so irritated with myself. She had gone through the trouble of cooking something for me, and I had fallen asleep before she even made it back into the room. What had she even thought at that moment? Had she laughed or been upset?
Picking up the plate, I brought it to my lap as another burst of lightning illuminated the room, giving me a brightened view of the food.
Grilled cheese. She had made me a grilled cheese sandwich.
This woman was fuckingperfection.
Picking up half, I shoved most of it into my mouth, stifling a groan at its deliciousness. It didn’t matter if the sandwich was cold; the savory taste of butter and cheese exploded on my tongue. It tasted like heaven.
After practically swallowing the first half of the sandwich whole, I reached for the other and started eating it, forcing myself to savor the second half. If it tasted this good cold, I could only dream of what it tasted like straight from the pan. Isla was a grilled cheese Master Chef, and I made a mental note to beg her to make me another on a day I wasn’t likely to pass out before it was ready.
Shamelessly, I licked my fingers after swallowing the last bite, wishing there was more of it, and looking around the room as though another plate would magically appear. It didn’t, but now that I knew my girl was a grilled cheese wizard, I’d be begging her to make them for me all the time. The small sandwich did little to satisfy my hunger, but it'd hold me over until morning. I wonder if she could make French toast, too?
As my mind went down the food rabbit hole, an idea popped into my head—a way to thank her. I reached over and patted the surface of the nightstand, looking for my phone before I realized I’d never brought it into the room.
