Page 34 of Stick Break
My eyes snap open.
A sound. Faint. From the other room. Not that I was sleeping. At least not deeply. Not after what happened. Or almost happened.
Carley.
That almost-kiss. Her legs around my waist, nipples tight against my chest. I can still feel the heat of her breath against my jaw. Still taste the promise of something dangerous on her lips. The cold ocean did nothing to help. The cold shower…even worse. My body’s been on high alert since she touched me. Since she looked at me with heat. Jesus. I was one second from sliding inside her. Right there in the goddamn water.
Fuck.
I shift, adjusting the pillow under my knee, trying to elevate the throbbing pain away. Not sure if it’s my torn groin or something else… The room is pitch dark, quiet. No honking horns. No shouting neighbors. No footsteps pounding overhead. Out here at the cottage, silence hits different, every little creak amplified, stretched. Maybe I imagined the sound. Could’ve been the sofa creaking when Charley rolled over.
Charley. On the sofa.
I groan. Honestly, I still can’t believe I let her sleep out there while I’m sprawled across this massive king bed. I was going to fight her on it again, but when I came out of the shower, she was already asleep. Or pretending to be. Probably pretending. That near-kiss spooked her. Hell, it spooked me too.
It’s a bad idea. Obviously.
…Right?
I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. We’re two hot messes, alone in paradise. Adults. Consenting. Wanting. Sure, we’re both kind of in a bad place. But maybe broken plus broken doesn’t equal disaster.
Maybe it equals relief.
Maybe it’s what we both need. Someone else’s skin to quiet the noise in our heads. Her mouth on me, mine on her, just enough to make us forget for one goddamn night.
There it is again.
A sound. Clicking this time. I sit up, listening hard. Should I check on her? Just to be sure she’s okay. Or to see if she sleeps naked?
Jesus.
I push to my feet slowly, stretching the tightness from my groin. Once the ache fades, well, not every ache, I creep to the door and crack it open. Silence. I step into the living room and scan the space. My gaze swings toward the sofa and my heart stutters when I find it empty.
She’s gone.
Did I scare her off?
Was one almost-kiss enough to send her running?
Jesus, I hope not.
She doesn’t have anywhere to go. I know that much. If she did, she wouldn’t have broken into the cottage to begin with. She’s stuck, just like me. Drifting. Looking for something to hold on to. My eyes adjust, chasing shadows in the dark. The front door is shut tight, a sliver of moonlight sneaking beneath it. Then, suddenly, that light disappears, as though something just moved past it.
Someone.
I go still.
When the glow returns, I step forward, cautious, easing the door open inch by inch. A whisper of sea air greets me, cool and damp. And then I see her.
Charley.
She’s standing just beyond the door, back to me, arms crossed tightly over her chest like she’s holding herself together by force. The sight of her hits me in the gut. She looks so fragile, exposed, alone in the moonlight. My first instinct is to go to her. To hold her. But maybe she wants the quiet. Wants to be alone with whatever’s clawing at her chest.
I start to turn away but the damn door creeks. She spins around, startled. Her face is damp. Eyes glossy.
Shit.
She’s been crying.
