Page 32 of Beneath the Surface

She nods. “It’s just a little unrealistic, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t that the point of movies? To escape reality for a little while?”

“Maybe.” She takes her hair out of her ponytail, running her fingers through the strands. “But I don’t need more reminders of all the love stories I’ll never experience.”

Her legs shift in my lap, and even though we’re having a serious conversation, my body takes notice. Italwaysnotices her.

“Bad relationship?” I ask, my heartbeat climbing so high I hear it in my ears. This is my moment—my in. A chance for her to tell me all the things I already know, and hopefully the pieces I don’t, so I can ease my guilty conscience and leave before things get too complicated.

Before I become too attached.

I’m already walking a dangerous tightrope, teetering on the edge.

“Yeah.” She laughs. “I guess you could call it that.” She rests her head on the couch cushion, her eyes softening as she stares at me, the silence stretching. I let it linger. Let it fill up all the cracks in the space between us, leaving the moment pregnant with expectation.

“I’ve only been in one…” she finally says. “If you can even call it that. Darryl. I met him in the airport of all places, coming back from Florida with my family.”

I already know about Darryl of course, but I was born into a family where “poker face” was a birthright, so even though my chest is burning from the knowledge, I master the neutral stare with ease.

She cringes. “He was twenty. I was fourteen. It wasn’t—” She shakes her head. “I was young, and stupid, and groomed for bad situations. My mind was twisted, and warped into thinking it was normal. That it was something I wanted.”

Nausea swirls through my insides. I’ve been wanting her to open up, but the way her body coils tighter with each word has tension painting itself across my skin, pulling it tight.

“How the hell did your parents let you get away with that?”

Her eyes gloss over at the mention of her parents, and the look has guilt dropping like a boulder in my gut. I knew this question would make her uncomfortable, but I’m notsupposedto know that, so I press on.

“They never knew. No one ever knew except a couple of m—” she hesitates, clearing her throat. “My friends. My parents were…” She sighs. “I was adopted, and they were so happy to evenhavekids that they never wanted to do anything to push us away. I took advantage of that.”

She pauses, her fingers jumping to her opposite wrist, scratching against the skin.

“They were...everythingI ever wanted,” she continues. “And I was a fucked-up kid, hiding behind a big smile and a fake personality.” She shrugs. “I was thegoodkid. It was m—” she hesitates again, swallowing around her words. “It was my brother who they thought would cause all the trouble.”

My heart pounds, my fingers stuttering from where I’m massaging her leg. “You have a brother?”

“Yep.” Her jaw tightens. “What about you?” she asks.

I grow dizzy from how fast my stomach flips, nausea racing up my esophagus and burning the back of my throat. I grind my teeth. “No. No siblings.”

She frowns. “How about relationships? I mean, I know about Annabelle, but before that. Anything serious?”

My grip tightens on her legs. “How many times do I have to tell you Annabelle and I aren’t in a relationship?”

She lifts a shoulder. “You’re stillwithher even if you don’t put a title on it.”

I shake my head, something heavy settling in my gut. “No, I’m not. I haven’t evenseenher since before I started watching Chase.”

“Hmm,” she hums. Her eyes are critical, like she’s debating on whether to believe me. And for some reason, Ineedher to believe me. I move quick, jerking her legs so her body slides closer, my hand gripping her hips tightly as I settle her across my lap. My palm wraps around the nape of her neck and drags her face toward mine, our noses brushing from the movement.

“If I was in a relationship, I wouldn’t do this,” I whisper.

My lips meet hers hard, my tongue licking the breath from her mouth until I’m drowning in her taste.

She melts into me immediately, her fingers tangling in the strands of my hair. I groan, my palm tightening on her neck. And then… she fucking bites me. Her teeth sink into my bottom lip and pull, the sting sharp and sudden, my cock jerking underneath her. Copper floods my tastebuds, and I rip her head away, my hand leaving her hip to swipe at the blood that’s dripping down my chin.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

She grins. “Maybe I don’t like nice.”

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