Page 69 of Touch Me

“I need a distraction.”

“Pull away.” She tugs her hand back, but I tighten my grip. “Jace. Just let go.”

“I don’t want to let go. I want you to distract me and take my mind off of it for a minute. Do something—”

Her hand cracks the side of my face with more force than I thought she was capable of. The shock stuns me to loosen my grip, and she immediately pulls her hand away from mine to cover her mouth.

“Oh my god,” she muffles through her fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

“What the hell, Cass?”

“I panicked. You were talking, and I was talking, and you said to make it hurt, and I couldn’t think of anything, and it just happened.” She reaches for the bag of ice on the coffee table. “Here, do you want the ice?”

I throw my head back and laugh until my stomach aches.

Her eyes narrow and her lips purse into a slight pout. “Jace?”

“Talk about a distraction.” My hand covers my stomach as I double over.

She giggles, and before long, both of us are in hysterics. Grabbing a tissue, she dabs her eyes and we both gain control and are content enough to sit next to each other in silence.

“So it seems you can only touch me without issue when I’m in some sort of danger.” Her lip twitches. “Real or imagined.”

“Don’t start.” I stand and cross to the other side of the living room. “That guy was a creep. Fucking Uber on a scooter. Who does that? And touching you like he knows you. What the hell?” The carpet will soon be worn threadbare if I pace this spot any more.

“I think he wanted to get to know me.”

I look over, and she’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. Obviously trying to get a reaction out of me.

“Oh, you think this is funny?”

“Actually, I think it’s adorable.”

I turn toward her, hands on my hips. “And why is that?”

Her face splits into a grin. “You’re jealous.”

“Pfft. I’m not jealous. I was concerned for your safety.”

Our eyes meet across the room and neither of us can mask the grins pulling at our mouths. A moment of unspoken communication dances between us. Our movements mirror each other with heated gazes and curious head tilts. She knows I want her. She also knows I can’t do a thing about it.

Cassie nods her understanding as if an actual conversation took place, and I nod in agreement. I haven’t got a clue as to what kind of deal we just made, but my body sings with the heat of anticipation.

I can’t wait to find out.

EIGHTEEN

ASHLEY WOULD BE SO PROUD

The next fewweeks pass by in a blur. Talk of the Hangman has almost completely died down, and I find myself less and less focused on it. Especially since Ally came to town last weekend, and I gave her the stun gun I bought. And some mace... and a keychain with pointy edges on it she could use as a weapon if necessary.

Her new man had a ton of papers to grade over the weekend, so I haven’t met him yet, but Ally seems happy and determined to build a life for herself. I’m a little bummed it’s so far away, but I can’t help but also strive for the feeling of home she’s chasing, so I can’t blame her for it.

I’ve been compiling notes and information on an up-and-coming photographer in town who finally convinced a gallery to showcase her work. No one really knows anything about her, but her work is stunning. She does a lot of landscapes and animals, and her work is awe inspiring.

I figure if I can write a good enough article on her to show someone in editing and publishing in the Arts Department, maybe they’ll let me cover the gallery opening in a few months and write some articles for them. I’m willing to do anything to get away from the fluff pieces I’m currently writing to feed myself.

My leg bounces under my desk, and while I’m under enough stress to explain the nerves, fidgeting isn’t my normal response. Word vomit is my anxiety’s activity of choice, which has served my career well once I learned to channel it into written form.

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