Page 30 of Deep In Love
“What are you hoping to see?” I ask to banish thoughts of the stunning blonde who does wicked things to my insides with a simple smile.
“A viperfish,” Jett blurts out. “Their teeth are insane, man. Imagine eating corn with those chompers.”
A surprised laugh escapes me, and Charlie’s head jerks, our eyes connecting from across the room. All else fades away as something soft, something foreign, flashes across her gaze. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and she returns to her conversation.
“I’ll never get that image out of my mind.” I chuckle, but my focus remains fixed on Charlie.
I would give up everything for a peek into her mind. She’s brilliant, precise, but an enigma. Does she truly dislike me, or is there room for change? Are her subtle perusals something more, or am I projecting?
Charlie rises from her table, and I give her a thirty-second head start before ditching Jett like a bad habit. Anticipation and trepidation overwhelm me as I slip into the room right behind her.
Sharing a bed with Charlie may kill me, but at least it will be a glorious death.
Chapter 10
Charlie
“We need to establish some ground rules,” I say, discarding my clothes into a corner and slipping on a sweatshirt and sweatpants while Mateo uses the bathroom. The pajamas I brought arefartoo revealing, and I would rather sweat to death than wear those around him, especially after what happened at the bar.
His words were so authentic, so genuine, and my skin tingles at the memory of his touch, the way his fingers danced across my skin, caressing the scars.
They felt like something beautiful, something to be revered, rather than the ugly reminder of the lowest points of my life. For a split second, it was as though my scars didn’t subtract from my value but made me remarkable.
I haven’t been able to compartmentalize how badly I want to believe in that feeling, to take Mateo’s words as truth, and allow myself to believe he might find me desirable.
“Ground rules?” Mateo’s voice is muffled by the bathroom door, but I hear his confusion.
“Yeah. You sleep on the ground. I sleep on the bed. Those are the rules.”
The bathroom door flies open, a toothbrush hanging out of Mateo’s mouth and minty foam dribbling down his chin as he shakes his head.
“No,” he mumbles, and I lean back in the small desk chair, waiting while he frantically finishes brushing his teeth. “I have a bad back.”
“And I don’t sleep beside men I’m not having sex with.”
The words escape before I can stop them, and the silence in the room is a living thing.
Mateo gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and my eyelids fall shut as I take a deep, calming breath.
Why do I say the things that I do? What part of my brain believes that mentioning the wordsexafter dildo-gate is a good idea?
It’s not even the truth.
When I do sleep with someone, which hasn’t occurred in a painfully long time—my vagina has cobwebs—I force them to leave immediately after. It’s one of my rules. No lights. No sleepovers. No missionary.
All three of those things allow emotions to creep into the action, and that’s not what I want. I want the release, not someone to see the scars covering my body or how uncomfortable I am in my own skin.
“Charlie, I can’t sleep on the floor for three weeks.”
His voice is dangerously close, and my eyes snap open to find him hovering over me, a pair of sleep pants hanging dangerously low on his hips.
When thefuckdid he lose his shirt?
He needs to find it, stat.
The expanse of bronze skin, and the way his muscles ripple as he leans down to grab his glasses from the table, consumes my sight. His crisp citrus-and-salt scent fills my nostrils, and I can’t breathe.Icannotfucking breathe with him this close to me, shirtless and putting on tortoise shell glasses.
Someone get this man a freaking shirt before I combust.
