Page 42 of The Hearts We Fumble
“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, focusing on unzipping her boots, tugging them off, and setting them neatly at the foot of the bed. “Just helping you get comfortable.”
She watches me, her heavy-lidded gaze searching.
“So you’re staying?” she asks, her words slow, weighted.
I don’t answer right away, keeping my hands busy, giving myself an excuse not to look at her.
She shifts slightly, her hand lifting to point toward the pile of clothes near her desk.
“I was wearing those earlier.”
Her voice is barely a whisper, but I hear it loud and clear.
And dammit if I don’t know exactly what she’s asking me to do.
I bend down, grabbing the worn Kansas City T-shirt and soft gray cotton shorts from the pile. When I stand, Wyatt is already reaching for the button of her jeans.
“Whoa.” I hold up a hand and immediately turn around.
“Oh, knock it off, Zane,” she mutters, the rustling of fabric filling the space between us. “It’s not like you haven’t seen plenty of naked girls before. You can already see my bra anyway. I have underwear on too.”
Her words hit harder than they should, something sharp woven between them—something that sounds a hell of a lot like hurt.
I clench my jaw, staring hard at the wall in front of me, knowing damn well I should keep my mouth shut. Instead, I stay frozen, stuck on the unspoken meaning beneath her words.
The mattress shifts as she moves, peeling off her jeans and tossing them to the floor with the lace top she was wearing. I don’t move, don’t turn, just listen as the quiet shuffle of fabric tells me she’s slipping on her shorts.
I’m just about to exhale, about to let my muscles relax, when she says, “You weren’t looking, so I figured I’d take my bra off too.”
My body locks up, my grip tightening around the clothes in my hands.
“They’re just boobs, Zane. Just because I might be a bit bigger than the girls you normally go for doesn’t make my body any different from theirs. You’ll be fine.”
The breath I was holding in comes out in a low, frustrated groan.
What the fuck?
I don’t have to turn around to see the exhaustion in her posture, the way she collapses onto her pillow like she’s trying to disappear.
Like she actually believes what she just said.
“What the hell does that mean?” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, my body wired too tight, my chest tightening like she’s just punched me in the damn ribs.
“Forget I said anything,” she murmurs, already pulling the blanket up over her shoulder, turning her back to me like the conversation is over. “Just shut the door on your way out, please.”
The words might as well be a gunshot.
I stand there, my fists clenching at my sides, my pulse hammering.
Did she really just insinuate that I wouldn’t want to look at her? That I wouldn’t want her because she has curves?
I feel something deep and dark rise in my chest, something that tastes a hell of a lot like anger—and something else I’m too afraid to name.
Because if Wyatt thinks for even a second that she isn’t the most tempting goddamn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on…
Then she doesn’t know me at all.
I rip the blanket away, tossing it to the floor, and kick off my boots before climbing on top of her, straddling her hips.
