Page 35 of Keeping You
“Me neither,” I admit, running my fingers through his hair. Something tells me I did, though. Somewhere in the depths of my being, I knew damn well we couldn’t just be friends. We couldn’t fake anything.
The reality of what just happened settles in. This was real, raw, and beautiful. And scary as fuck.
Luke gently rolls off me, pulling me into his arms until we’re face to face on the bed, our heads cushioned by my pillows. He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek.
“Whatever happens next,” he uses a finger to trace my cheek with a gentleness that makes me all gooey inside, “I want you to know that what just happened is not part of any pretend relationship. That was very real, Callie.”
Tears prick at my eyes, and I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. There's a terrifying vulnerability in acknowledging this isn’t pretend. Pretend is safe. Pretend fits neatly into a box. Pretend means nobody gets hurt.
“I didn't mean for this to happen,” I finally manage.
“Neither did I.” His thumb catches a tear I didn't realize had fallen. “Does that scare you?”
“Yes,” I admit. “Doesn't it scare you?”
He shakes his head. “Not in the least.”
We lie in silence while our bodies slowly cool and our breathing evens out. Eventually, Luke gets up to dispose of the condom, and when he returns, he drags me into his arms again after tucking us under the sheets. “I should go,” he says quietly, but there’s no urgency in his voice.
“Stay.” I press a kiss to the side of his neck, surprising myself with my request. Every logical part of me is screaming to end this now, to re-establish boundaries before I'm in too deep. Instead, I hear myself say, “For a little while longer.”
He kisses the top of my head, his arms tightening around me. “As long as you want,” he murmurs, and I wonder if he feels my pulse racing with equal parts excitement and terror. Because“as long as you want”sounds dangerously close to forever, and I'm not sure I'm brave enough for that.
Not yet.
Chapter Eleven
Luke
What the…?A soft body is molded against mine. A smooth leg hooked over mine. Somebody’s hand is resting on my chest, right over my heart.
Callie.
Awareness zings through me.I slept through the night.No nightmares. No waking up in a cold sweat, hearing Stu's voice the last time we spoke. Damn, does that mean I’m coming to peace with his loss? Already?
Callie’s curled against me, her breath warm as it flows over my skin, her hair spilling across the pillow like silk. Her lips tilt up in the faintest smile, without that stubborn wall she always hides behind. She looks vulnerable. Younger. Breakable.
My fingers twitch with the urge to trace the slope of her cheek, to memorize the softness there, but I don’t. She deserves her peace. Besides, I’m a coward, afraid that if I touch her, I won’t be able to stop.
Instead, I take in her world. Bookshelves line the far wall, filled with everything from dog-eared paperbacks to what appears to be leather-bound classics, neatly organized and probably alphabetized. A framed photo of Callie and her mom catches my eye, arms around each other, smiles so alike itknocks the air from my lungs. How did I never notice the resemblance before?
Carefully, I ease out of bed, moving slowly so I don't wake her. She stirs, murmuring something in her sleep, but doesn't open her eyes. Grabbing my boxers from the floor, I pull them on before heading for the bathroom.
The guy staring back at me in the mirror feels different today. Lighter somehow, as though last night stripped something off his shoulders. The shadows are gone, well, not completely gone, but they're not as dark. I splash water on my face and run wet fingers through my hair to tame the chaos her hands left behind. The guilt that's been my constant companion since Chicago threatens to surface. It takes some mental effort, but I push it down, leaving its mark like always.
When I step back into the bedroom, Callie’s awake and sitting up with the sheet clutched to her breasts, hair a messy halo, lips still pink and swollen from my mouth. She’s a goddamn vision, and for a beat, all I can do is stand there and soak her in.
“Morning.” Her voice is husky from sleep.
“Morning.” Needing to be closer, I perch on the edge of the bed, hating the thought of even the smallest distance between us now.
“I thought you left.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and that small sign of insecurity twists something in my gut.
“Without saying goodbye?” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Not again.”
Her gaze meets mine, soft and searching, and something in my chest pulls tight.
“I should probably get up. Make coffee,” she says, though she doesn’t move.
