Page 24

She settled between my spread legs on the rug, on her knees, facing me like she was getting ready to beg me to put us out of our misery. And fuck me. I could barely breathe. The sexual chemistry between us was undeniable. My hand twitched,wanting to touch her. She was breaking me in half and giggling while doing it.

She brought the blunt to her lips, took a pull like she knew what she was doing—then hacked so hard her whole body folded. It took everything in me not to laugh at her. She looked up, eyes red, mouth twisted, and if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.

“You should’ve warned me,” she wheezed.

I threw my hands up. “I did,” I said. “You just don’t listen.”

She sucked her teeth but didn’t hand it back. She went back to her original spot and back to reading whatever romance book she’d been into, puffing in between coughs.

She was determined to smoke my weed even if it had her eyes watering.

I returned to the blueprint pulled up on my laptop.

About thirty minutes later, out of nowhere, I saw her shake herself—like a wet dog in movies.

Then she called me. “Sam,” she said, voice too serious. “I don’t like this.”

Her eyes were wild. She was rubbing her arms like she was trying to warm herself.

“I feel like my skin is trying to crawl off,” she wheezed.

Here we go. I sat up immediately. “Okay, okay. You’re fine. Breathe.”

She got up and started pacing, muttering something under her breath. Then she bolted. I was caught off guard for a second, and it took me more than a few to react.

I followed her down the hall. Found her in the shower. She went in fully clothed, letting hot water hit her head and shoulders. Her shirt stuck to her skin.

“Get out of the shower, Zane. You just need to lay down,” I said gently. “Come on.” I walked toward her to help.

She jumped out of the shower, water dripping off of her, shoved past me—soaking wet—and ran for her phone.

“I’m calling 911.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

She held the phone up to show me the emergency dial screen, her thumb hovering. I grabbed it gently from her hand.

“No more alcohol or drugs for you. Ever.”

She stared at me.

“Come on,” I said, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom. “You need to lie down.”

She didn’t argue. I pulled back the covers and helped her out of her wet shirt, then pants and panties. I kept it clinical, didn’t look too long. I didn’t touch her after that, because every time I did, it got harder to pretend I didn’t want more than this. More than temporary. More than borrowed time.

When she crawled into bed, I got in behind her, and despite my contrary thought from just a few seconds earlier, I wrapped my arms around her, telling myself I was just doing it so she wouldn’t run again.

“I feel like I’m floating,” she whispered.

“You’re not,” I said. “You’re right here.”

“I don’t like this feeling. I can see your words…”

I rubbed slow circles into her hip and choked back a laugh. “Okay. Then talk to me. Let’s distract your brain.”