Page 46 of Saving Barrette
“I’m not,” I assure him. I try to tell myself I’m not, but he’s Asa, and he can see through me even when I can’t.
“I love you,” he pants, and the way he says the words, they come out like an apology, an “I love you, so you have to be whole.” An “I love you, so please, love me back.”
And I do, so much, but I don’t say it. Instead, emotion creeps in, and I wish I was different. I wish I could be anyone else but myself. I wish… for the giddiness those girls had for myself. Instead I have this, his body on mine, his heart begging for mine and I give it, but I’m not sure if it’s enough.
His thrusts quicken, pushing into me two more times before he comes, his head buried into the pillow beside me, his grunt muffled by the fabric.
I cling to him, my body trembling, unwilling to let him go. He lets me, stays, covering my body with his. He breathes in, turns his head, and kisses my cheek, neck, collarbone… anywhere my skin is touching his. His kisses are tender and loving, everything I need, softly moving over my body that’s broken.
I sigh. I breathe in and out, and for a moment, I’m at ease.
He pulls out and moves to the side, facing the wall. After a moment, he props himself up on his elbow and runs his fingers over my ribcage. I smile and watch his face, curling into him. He pulls his jeans up over his waist but doesn’t button them. He leaves them open and it’s sexy.
I smile again, because he’s so damn adorable with his messy hair, flushed cheeks, and eyes full of excitement. Sex looks good on him.
With a sigh, Asa’s eyes lift to my room. “Where’d you put the candy?”
I raise my head off the pillow. “I dropped it over there.” I turn back to him. “I’ll get it.”
Prying myself from the bed, I reach for them on the floor and bend over in front of him giving him a clear view of my naked body. Turning, I toss them at him. He catches them midair and then groans, his head hitting the wall with a thump. “That wasn’t fair.”
“How so?”
He motions to the bulge barely concealed in his boxers. “I’m nineteen. Clearly I can go two or three times in a night.”
I laugh at his expression. It’s between need and annoyance. “Well, give me a minute and I’ll be right back.”
He winks. “Hurry.”
I go to the bathroom, and when I return to the room, Asa’s eyes are strangely focused on my desk next to my bed.
His eyes are colder. Something’s up. He looks… mad. My heart thuds in my ears, the light next to my bed creating a disturbing shadow over his face.
Reaching for his jersey on the floor next to the bathroom door, I swallow over the dryness in my throat. “What’s wrong?” I slip the jersey over my shoulders, sensing the mood in the room has changed.
Asa sits up and runs his hands over his face. He looks… broken. His eyes shift to mine, and then my desk. I follow his stare. It’s Roman’s sweatshirt draped over my chair.
He thinks…. No, he couldn’t think that, could he?
His jaw flexes, his lips pressing together and narrow on mine. “Whose is that?”
My words come out shaking. “Roman’s.” I don’t lie to him. “We were studying the other night.”
“He was herealonewith you?” There’s a sharpness to his words I don’t understand.
“Yes.”
He nods slowly and then I notice he’s breathing heavily. “I don’t want him here, ever again. You’re not to be alone with him.”
I’m caught off guard by his demand, and it is a demand. By the way each word is carefully intricate, it’s definitely a demand. “Asa…” I sigh. “We were just studying.”
He moves from my bed, standing before me, his body taut and on edge. I watch as he zips and buttons his jeans, the way his muscles flex, the way his stomach ripples. But then I think, crap, what a mood killer. There’s a good part of me that realizes the reasons for Asa’s annoyance with having another guy in my room, alone, but the other part wonders why. I’ve been friends with Roman just as long as Asa. Clearly he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Finally, he confirms my thoughts and growls, “I donottrust him.”
I look at the sweatshirt, and then Asa. “So I can’t have any other guy friends but you?”
He snorts, shaking his head, and a vindictive smirk pulls at his lips. I’ve never ever seen that look before. He reaches for his sweatshirt on my bed and holds it in his clenched fist. “I’d like to say no, you can’t, but you and I both know you never listen to a goddamn word I say.”
I blink, shocked, and nod. My throat tightens. My eyes water. It builds and builds, and I feel as though I’m suffocating. “Because I won’t file a police report,” I deduce.
