Page 58 of Entangled

He lifts his head, bringing the hand at the back of my head up to run his thumb across my cheek and we stay there for a long while. Staring into each other’s eyes, locked in an embrace, a whole universe of unspoken feelings between us. The feeling of painful vulnerability grips me tight and he must see the panic start to fill my eyes because he drops his forehead to mine.

“Me too,” he reminds me softly as I run my fingers through his hair.

Feeling entirely too exposed and needing something from him in return, I ask the question I’ve been biting my tongue against for two weeks. “Tell me what you’re always writing in that journal.”

“Thoughts.” He drops his lips to my neck and presses a kiss to it. “Words that need to escape me.”

I grip his short hair as best I can and tug in warning. “Tell me something you’ve written.”

“Who’s the demanding one now?” He laughs softly, breath tickling my skin.

“Tell me.”

“Fine.” Lifting his head, he looks down at me with mischievous eyes. “Let’s play a game.”

“That’s what you’ve written?” I pull a disbelieving face, tone pure sarcasm.

“No, brat.” He nips at my bottom lip playfully. “Once a day, I’ll tell you something I’ve written in exchange for you answering a question honestly.”

Trepidation threads through me, but I fight it. In part, for some reason, because he’s asked and in part because I really want to know what’s in that journal. “Deal. But no questions today. I’ve already earned this one.”

“Done. Let me think…” His eyes cloud over for a moment in thought before he brings his hand up and runs his thumb along my bottom lip with a featherlight touch as he speaks. “It’s those 11:11 sighs, stolen feelings hard to describe. Where I sink into this dream of mine.”

My breath stalls at the poem and I have to force myself to inhale again as I analyze every word. Suspecting it’s about us… knowing it’s about us.

“That’s poetry,” I state stupidly. Apparently, my brain decided to check out for the day somewhere between ice cubes and forced acknowledgment of feelings.

He shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. “I suppose.”

“It’s beautiful. How long have you been writing?”

His expression shutters. “About a decade, I guess.”

No way. If I don’t get to close off, neither does he. “Why not be a writer?”

He hesitates, shadows filling his eyes. “You’re not the only one scared of becoming one of your parents.”

I say nothing, simply running my fingers through the back of his hair and gently bringing his mouth to mine. Kissing him softly before pushing at his shoulders, encouraging him to roll over and he follows my lead, quickly switching our positions so that I’m straddling him. I feel him begin to harden inside of me again and roll my hips, dropping my lips to kiss a soft path down his neck. I say nothing, because sometimes, a hurt can run so deep that no matter how many millions of words are heaped upon it in an attempt to heal, they do nothing but settle like salt on a wound. Sometimes, it takes a different form of understanding, of giving a bit of yourself to another, to ease their pain. Of one soul letting the other know, they are not alone in their suffering.

Chapter 15

Present Day

The chime of my phone wakes me up a few hours after Jace slid from my bed at an ungodly hour this morning with the whispered words that he had promised to meet Zane for some bros’ surfing time. Whatever that means. It was our third night in a row together and we had fallen into the start of a routine. We did our own things during the day but when he was done at the bar for the night he would call to ask what I was doing and I would bullshit him for a bit before eventually telling him to come over. Then we would wake up and go for coffee and breakfast at his place, along with some more mind-blowing sex, before going our separate ways and starting the routine all over again.

And yes, he did get me to make those noises for him every morning without the help of caffeine.

The whole thing made me unbelievably nervous and yet… I wasn’t quite sure how to stop it now either. Or if I even wanted to. I had been right, Jace Dawson was a master at slipping through the cracks in people’s walls and I could already feel him starting to finagle his way through mine.

I reach for my phone with a sigh and unlock the screen, pulling up my messages. There’re a few notifications in the group message I have with the guys from early this morning, as in two a.m. early. I click on it and play the drunken video Mac and Kai sent me last night with a grin splitting my face as they dramatically demand I abandon my trip and come home. Kai claiming he’s lost without me while Mac just threatens to start drinking my stash of wine if I don’t comply. I close out of the video and scroll down to see the messages Stef sent a few minutes after their video.

Stef: Ignore the idiots but don’t forget our club opens at the end of July and I would like you there.

Stef: Please.

Stef: Nona’s banquet is that week too.

Stef: Miss you more than the idiots, cara.

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