Page 16 of Flog Me, Sir

I shrugged.

“You know who my parents are?”

I nodded, and he started at the beginning, weaving his own tale of inner and external conflict, hooking me and my empathy until my heart ached for the child he’d been, neglected by the two people who ought to love him the most.

Conditional love had him striving for perfection when he couldn’t see he’d already attained it as far as the world—and I—was concerned. I held my silence, soaking in his words, every sentence, every memory he shared. The breaking of his voice sucked me down the rabbit hole of Garret’s painful past and broke my heart.

“I was nothing more than a bad kid always getting into trouble,” he said, gazing off into the woods on my left as though still caught up in his own story.

“You were starved for attention.” If nothing else, what he’d shared had made that clear as the sun shining down on his dark hair.

“I was never bad enough—or good enough—to get the attention I craved,” he murmured.

I studied the line of his jaw, the beautiful curve of his lips as he tilted his head back, allowing the sun to kiss his face.

“You don’t need to be defined by the past,” I said after drinking in my fill, wondering how such a gorgeous man could feel he wasn’t good enough in any way.

“Neither do you,” he said, lifting his head to search my eyes.

I found myself smiling, even though my heart still ached for him. “I like you, Garret Edwards.”

He flashed a grin, all arrogant womanizer once more, I expected he used it to hide the pain lingering in his eyes.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re talking your way into my panties,” I said, narrowing my gaze even though I still smirked over the fact I’d made him smile like he did to me.

He groaned. “You had to bring that image to my mind.”

Sudden nervous laughter accompanied my grabbing my backpack, and I wondered over the banter between us—how I managed to let loose to the point of flirting.

“Will you at least let me be your friend?” he asked while standing and brushing bits of leaves and dirt off his jeans.

“I feel like you already are,” I told him, tilting my head back as he stepped closer, his eyes taking on a glint that sent a rush of moisture to my panties.

“Any chance I can talk you into being friends with benefits?”

I slapped his arm playfully, and heat flared in his eyes—and raced my pulse. “Sorry...”

“That’s not a no,” he said, straightening and peering down at me like I ought to drop to my knees and apologize again.

I swallowed against the nerves clawing at my throat. “I-I don’t know.”

“That’s not a no, either.” He closed the distance between us, his warm palm cradling my cheek. “Is that a no?” he asked, his voice low and seductive as hell, enough he completely ruined another pair of my panties.

I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know. I burned for him—he had to know that—but the shit past wrapped me up in chains tight enough I couldn’t even search for a lock to free myself. Maybe he held the key. Maybe Mrs. Hummel was right, that we really could heal one another.

Addictive, my mind whispered, but not as strongly as before.

“It’s not a no—”

He claimed my mouth, shutting off my words. My thoughts.

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