Page 39 of Craving the Player

He turns his face into my palm and kisses the warm skin once, twice, and athird time before letting out ashaky breath. His chocolate-eyes are warm yet guarded as he watches me with an obvious curiosity, like he’strying desperately to dissect my thoughts, and burn with something unforgiving and almost possessive.

Whatever it is has aheavy ball of emotion curling around my throat, tightening and tightening until I’mforced to clear my throat and drop my hand. Ignoring the flash of pain in my chest, Ioffer Braden aweak smile before rolling onto my back, my head colliding with athick pillow. Apillow that smells more like him than he does. It sticks to my skin and swirls in my belly. Iget the urge to kick my legs in blooming frustration like akid having ahissy fit. Instead, Isettle for hopping out of bed and hightailing out of the room, into the bathroom.

“Gotta pee!” Icall out before shutting the door and twisting the lock. After flipping on the light, Ifumble with sweaty hands to grip the edge of the sink, reigning in my sigh as the coolness of the porcelain soothes my hot palms like cold water to afresh burn.

No distractions, Sierra. It was one simple rule. Dealing with the heartache that came after Logan has already set me back. With the days Ispent in bed, calling into work and using each one of my collected sick days until they were gone and my boss was threatening apay cut if Ididn’treturn ASAP, Ifelt like my world was collapsing down on me like adamn house of cards. Ibusted my ass to reclaim my life after that, with apromise to never allow myself to fall into that place again. Aplace where even the thought of grabbing abottle of water from the fridge or brushing my teeth felt like an unattainable task.

Braden is aliving breathing distraction. He’sathorn in my side. Apest of the worst kind, like abed bug who continuously finds aspot to hide when the bedding is washed and the room is fumigated, overstaying the hell out of its welcome.

I’mangry with myself for allowing this playboy to weasel his way into my life when Idon’teven know his last name. Idon’thave answers to the simplest questions. Like, does he have abig family? Did he have any pets growing up? Is he even from Vancouver or did he move here when he was younger? If so, where did he move from?

Shit. I’ve really done it this time. And the worst part may be that even though Iknow Ishouldn’t, Iwant an answer to every single one of those questions.

The street outside my apartment is dark and empty, void of human life. The time by the car radio shows that it’sjust past midnight, so I’mnot surprised. Ican’tsay that I’musually awake at this hour on atypical Sunday night either.

My hands are clasped and tucked between my thighs so that Idon’tfidget with them. The silence in the small car is deafening. It feels wrong, Ifeel out of place.

It wasn’teven ten minutes after Istumbled out of Braden’sbathroom that Iasked—or begged, Iguess—for him to drive me home. Sure, Icould say that Ijust didn’twant to call acab this late and risk getting stuck with adriver who would have talked my ear off about how the gas prices are rising and global warming is ahoax. But Ihad wanted to spend more time with Braden, even though Ishouldn’t.

He didn’targue when Iasked, didn’tbeg me to stay the night, and Iwas grateful for his understanding, even though my request could have been seen as alarming. It wasn’tuntil he led me out of his apartment building, astrong hand resting on my lower back, that Irealized he might know me abit better than Ihad originally thought. That didn’tscare me as much as Iexpected it to.

The fact that I’m not more scared, is what scares me the most. Ironic, right?

“Thanks for the ride,” Isay, hoping that Idon’tsound as disappointed as Ifeel.

His fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel and he nods, still looking out the windshield, jaw tight. I’msure that either one of us would be able to hear apin drop in the backseat right about now.

After astrong swallow, Ioffer him atight smile and unclasp my hands so that Ican pull open the car door. But the minute they lay flat on my thighs, he’scollecting them in his large, strong ones, squeezing like he doesn’texactly know what to do with them now. His thumbs rubs along the top of my hands, and Isigh, long and hard while my eyes flutter shut for asecond. When Iopen them again, Ifind Braden watching me with alook that Irecognize as one that I’ve seen him wear only ahandful of times. Vulnerability.

“Ineed to walk you inside, okay?” he asks firmly, and Iopen my mouth to agree but he cuts me off before Istart. “Don’tbother arguing with me either. Ijust want to make sure you get inside safely.”

Ishake my head and laugh lightly, feeling the sound bubbling in my chest and ears. “Okay. Walk me inside.”

He looks taken aback by my easy acceptance, but brushes it off with awide-spread grin. With afinal squeeze of my hands, he lets them both go and we step outside, the slam of one door followed closely by the other. He meets me on the sidewalk and like earlier, places afirm hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the building.

When we reach the doors, he reaches in front of me to pull it open, holding it with astrong arm until I’ve walked through the doorway, shooting him alook of pure amusement over my shoulder. Ihave to use my fist to stifle my laugh when Icatch him ducking his head to make it through the doorway. Sometimes Iforget that he’staller than any guy that I’ve ever been with. All thick thighs and corded calves. He makes my five-nine height look embarrassing.

Once I’ve unlocked the second door and we’ve walked up the stairs to my second floor apartment, Ifeel all the happiness from only asecond prior fizzle out of me, annoyance taking its place.

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