Page 63 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

Leading someone on… it’s selfish as fuck. I’ve never been selfish before.Never. I’m not sure why I’m okay with it now. If I’m honest, it’s nice. And that scares the shit out of me. Charley doesn’t deserve this, and I don’t deserve her.

I can’t believe what I’m saying, but damn, I’ve never met someone so pure. These thoughts, these feelings, they came out of nowhere. I never expected to want anyone, let alone a person who hurt a girl I’d consider a good friend.

Her tears struck something in me, and I haven’t been able to let it go. They were genuine, the most genuine thing I’ve ever seen. She was embarrassed, sure, but she didn’t feel guilty because of it. Guilt rode her hard because she was sorry for what she’d done.

What the hell am I going to do? I cannot engage in a relationship with her, not with an expiration looming over my head. There is only so much I can put up with in this life. I exist for Gramma and she won’t be around much longer. I can tell. She’s decomposing daily and without her… I have nothing. Sure I have Jensen. I love him, but one day, he’ll move on and I can’t bear that.

Then why can’t I let go of Charley, my Outlaw?My Outlaw…like I can lay some selfish claim on her. Why do I want to hold her hand right now? I’ve already been way too honest with her. I’m leading her on.

The way her heart beats when I’m around, the subtle pounding under the delicate skin of her throat. There’s no denying it. She’s attracted to me. Hell if I don’t want her. And not just to fuck her. I want her time, her words, her elusive scent, silky raven hair. To comfort her, make her smile. I want to get lost in those hazel eyes and swim in her soul.

But my secrets are heavy, too heavy. What will she think of me if the truth comes out? If we continue, I’m sure they will. How could they not? I can’t be with someone and expect them to give me everything when I’m hiding parts of myself. Like I said, I’m not selfish.

But not letting her go is selfish. Sitting in this SUV with her right now is selfish.

With a sigh, I close the space between our hands and link my fingers with hers.

Regret slaps me in the face instantly when she tenses and, without looking at me, forms a smile on her lips and holds my hand tight.

What the fuck am I doing?

The ride is short and silent. Not at all uncomfortable. Enough is being said through our touch though she can’t see how freaked out I am. I’m good at keeping my emotions at bay, usually, but Charley has a knack for knowing just how I’m feeling and what I need without me having to say it. That’s what scares me the most.

We pull up to a small cafe that stands by itself. It’s edgy, modern, an old building given new life that is happier for it. The parking lot is busy for such a small space and people, both old and young, are walking in and out.

I’m out of the car and around to her side before she gets the SUV shut off and her stuff ready to go inside. I promised we’d actually get some studying done this time.

“Thank you,” she says and smiles in a way so feminine it’s sheepish—unlike her.

I guide her, hovering my hand over the small of her back. I’m tempted to see how soft she is, to trace the delicate curve of her back, but I don’t. Already having done too much, I can’t push that much further.

The door to the cafe opens, and a cheery blonde girl greets us. She’s tiny, not just petite, but short.

“Hi! Welcome! Where would you like to sit today?”

“The lounge,” I request without hesitation, having frequented this place. Some of the staff know me, probably because of Jensen, but they have a high turnover rate and this girl is new.

“You’re in luck. The lounge is open today. Follow me.” She waves her hand, gesturing for us to trail behind her.

Charley walks before me, and I can’t stop myself from admiring her frame. She’s taller than anyone I’ve ever been with, slender as they come. Lean and athletic from years of hockey. The way her heart beats when I’m around, the subtle pounding under the delicate skin of her throat. There’s no denying it. She’s attracted to me. Hell if I don’t want her. And not just to fuck her. I want her time, her words, her elusive scent, silky raven hair. To comfort her, make her smile. I want to get lost in those hazel eyes and swim in her soul.

This place isn’tyour typical small town cafe. It’s ‘big city’ if I’ve ever seen it. And not even a blend of the two. No, this place is as modern and industrial as they come. A far cry from anything classically Bleudale. A ‘fuck you’ to the typical decor of the old money elite assholes.

Charley, the popular girl, the people person, loves it. People are chatting, studying, typing away, and having phone conversations, all while sipping fancy looking lattes and foamy cappuccinos. I expected she would because I’m in her head already. I shouldn’t be, but I am. It’s easy.

In as many ways as we differ, we are also alike. She’s simple and not in the materialistic buy-her-diamonds sort of way. Charley likes connection, craves it through touch or talk. She likes to learn people, to see them, and to make them smile. EverythingI’vealways craved and never let myself have.

“Is this good?” the hostess asks, swinging her hand toward an olive-colored couch. It’s empty, thankfully, and we drop our bags down to claim the entire thing.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” Charley chimes.

The hostess distributes our menus and backs away. Charley glances around awkwardly, not sure where to sit down. I want her in my lap with my arms wrapped around her. I want to touch her, bury my face in her hair, place tender kisses down her neck.

This is not the place for that.

“The couch won’t bite you, Charley,” I tease. A flustered Charley is adorable and so unlike her.

“Yeah, no. I know.” She flushes, her eyes widening. To help her out, I plop down in the corner of the couch and pat the cushion beside me. Gracefully, the movement of a true athlete, she climbs on the couch next to me and crosses her legs as she faces me. “Are you getting anything to drink?”

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