Page 303 of Vicious Saint
“We’ll be fine—”
He holds up a decisive hand. “The day after you win, and Hendrix secures her spot at the university.”
I don’t even bother shooting him a rebuttal before pushing open the door and hauling my ass down the hall to get to Hendrix.
In a few days, she’ll know everything, and I can finally breathe without guilt eating away at me every time she looks at me.
Not patient enough to wait for the elevator, I pass it to the foyer stairs, skipping steps until I reach the floor where our bedrooms are.
I’m almost out of breath by the time I open her door, and choke on whatever’s left when I take in the sight before me.
Hendrix, asleep, head whipping side to side as her legs and arms thrash on the bed.
Fuck. Not again.
“Wake up,” I say, nudging her shoulder, then slide onto the bed. “C’mon, Jimi.”
This is the fourth time I’m finding Hendrix like this, drenched in sweat and murmuring cries in her sleep.
Another reason I need to tell this girl everything.
I’m not an idiot, I knew the incident at the club would have some lasting effects, because although Hendrix and I share adarkness inside us, the one around us growing up was nowhere near the same.
A few more nudges and Hendrix shoots up off the pillow, eyes flying open, still half asleep in a craze as her head whips to me. “Saint?” she cries, pulling the blanket over her chest. “Is that you?”
She asks me this same question every time I wake her from a nightmare, and every time I end up fucking hating it even more.
Swallowing my anger, I swipe the damp hairs from her face. “It’s me, Jimi, I’m here.”
It takes a few seconds of massaging Hendrix’s shoulder before she’s lucid enough to speak in a hoarse voice.
“Did I wake you again?”
“Nah, I just got back from talkin’ to Pops.” I motion for her to scoot over, and when she does, I settle at her side and wrap her up in my arms.
“Sorry.”
“You have no reason to be.”
“My tank top is drenched. I’m getting sweat all over you.”
I attempt to relax her the only way I know how.
With sex jokes.
“I drink your orgasms every night, Jimi. I ain’t scared of a little perspiration.”
She chuckles. “True. But still. I may stink a bit too.”
“B.O.?” I moan. “Now that’s sexy as fuck.”
A thick silence drifts between us before Hendrix’s lungs deflate into nothing. Just like whatever she was about to say.
“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“There’s nothing for me to tell you.”
“Then ask me.”
