He turns to face me, his hand curling into a fist before relaxing. In that moment, I take him in—the loose navy shirt he’s wearing, the messy waves of his hair falling across his forehead,his untied shoelaces. He looks like he haphazardly got dressed and rushed over here. Like he was in a hurry.
“I brought you my jersey.”
“Don’t want it.”
He huffs and pulls it out of his bag, tossing it onto the bed.
I stare at it and then back at him.
“Fuck. Listen, I’m sorry about last time,” he says softly, his eyes meeting mine. They’re soft and almost sad.
But I don’t feel bad for him. He stomped into my life, stuck his hand down my pants, and made me question my identity.
And then he discarded me.
If having a single mom and three sisters has taught me anything, it’s knowing my worth. And I refuse to be treated like shit.
“I have a lot of family stuff going on and…” He blows out a breath. “Look, I hate them. Like, I don’t think people realize how much I fucking hate them all, and when they called… Well, I took it out on you.”
My arms loosen around my chest. Oh, I didn’t expect this. This unveiling of the truth.
“I’m sorry,” he adds.
I blink at him, words trapped in my throat.
“Can I kiss you again?”
I huff and feel my cheeks redden.
“No.”
He sets his bag down and steps forward. “Just a few small ones?”
I huff again as he moves right up to me. My hands fall to my sides, and I can’t help but stare into his dark eyes.
“I just needed some space after that phone call. I don’t like showing people my…” He glances away and deflates slightly. “…my true feelings. It makes me feel vulnerable. And growing up, being vulnerable got the shit kicked out of you.”
“It’s normal to feel vulnerable,” I say, my mom’s words reverberating in my mind.You go ahead and show those emotions. It doesn’t make you less than. It just makes you real.“It’s not normal to get the shit kicked out of you, though.”
“Yeah, I know. But listen, vulnerability is not normal for me. I—” He looks away again. “Like I said, I didn’t have the best childhood.”
I can’t help it. My hand reaches out, and I touch his side. It brings him closer to me, his chest against mine.
“I think a kiss would make me feel better.” His eyes land on my lips, and he arches his hips forward.
I huff a small laugh, and he slants his mouth over mine. I groan into it, and so does he, a sensual mix of lust and relief.
Hell, it’s fine. He’s here. He apologized, and he wants to keep kissing me. Who am I to protest?
His hands twine in my hair and tug as I lean into him, pulling him against me, our bodies slotted together like the perfect puzzle piece.
What the hell am I thinking that for? I fucking hate puzzles.
Still, our hips meet and grind, our breathing grows heavier, our hands more frantic. His tongue tangles with mine, his teeth scraping against my bottom lip before he pulls away and gives a little yank on the bottom of my shirt.
“Take it off. I want you naked.”
“How about you first, for once?”
