Page 61 of Touch Me

Love you too.

Me:

*Kissy face emoji*

After making plans to catch up soon, I pour a shot of amber liquid and shoot it back like a... I don’t know.Who shoots whiskey?Not me—this shit is awful. My eyes water and my throat constricts in an effort to hold back a gag. I rummage through the cabinets in search of something that’ll wash away the taste of campfire out of my mouth.

What’s a girl gotta do to find a little Fireball up in here?

Resigning myself to wait for something pink and fruity at the club, and determined to keep my mind off any recent developments in the news, I spend an unreasonable amount of time getting ready. Nothing makes a girl feel better than a tight pair of jeans and sky high heels that make your ass pop. A black strappy tank top and smokey eye complete the look, and I strut my stuff right out into the foyer like someone is paying me to promote this look.

When I reach the entry table to grab my purse, I do a quick spin to scan the foyer not finding it. Stepping down into the living room and searching all the flat surfaces I may have left it, I spot it on the kitchen island. Jogging as safely as these ass-popping heels allow, I snatch it off the counter, digging my phone out to request a ride. With my head cast down, I turn to leave and collide with Jace and ricochet back into the kitchen island.

The stab of betrayal cuts deep as my beloved heels turn on me and my ankle rolls as I teeter to correct my balance. Two strong hands circle my waist and I’m suddenly lost in the pools of Jace’s icy blue eyes. His fingers tighten on my waist, and I have to look down to make sure I’m not imagining his hands still on me. I’m half-tempted to pinch myself to ensure this isn’t a fantasy.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Thank you.” I drag my eyes slowly up to his face, waiting for him to realize he’s still touching me. “Uh, areyouokay?” This is usually about the time he would turn tail and bolt from the room.

“Yes, of course. I didn’t almost fall.”

“Yeah, but...”

I almost look down again until we get locked in a stare. His icy blues turn to molten steel, and I couldn’t pull my gaze away if Jon Bon Jovi himself was serenading me on the terrace. The last thing I want to do is to draw attention to his very obvious hands tightening around me. In the time it takes me to let out one very embarrassingly breathy sigh, his features harden, and he jerks his hands back. He clenches his fists in front of him and looks at them like he wants to blame them for all his misery.

Then he turns to flee.

“We had a deal,” I remind him.

He stops, his tense shoulders bunching up around his ears.

“No running.”

I’m met with silence. Well, there’s some angry breathing coming from his quaking form, but no words.

I take a step toward him. “Don’t you see what just happened?”

“Yeah, the same thing that always happens.” He spits between clenched teeth.

“No. You hesitated. You lingered, making sure I was okay before you let go.”

“I don’t need a fucking congratulations for not letting you fall. I did that once already, remember?”

“Then why didn’t you let me fall this time?”

“It was a reflex. I wasn’t thinking. It just happened.” Every muscle in his back flexes and shakes, and I have to fight the urge not to run my hands over his muscles to smooth them out, to comfort him.

“And look, you’re okay,” I say softly.

I gasp at the torture in his eyes as he turns on me and takes a step in my direction. “Do I look like I’m fucking okay?”

The ear-piercing screech of the barstool scraping against the floor as I jump backward only amplifies the anguish in his eyes.

His movements are jerky and it’s obvious he’s barely restraining himself from fleeing the room. “Nothing about this is okay!”

“I’m sorry. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” He ticks off each finger. “I’m still standing. I’m alive. I made it out unscathed. Is that what you were going to say?”

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