Page 27 of Ruled Out

I break from my own thoughts as I sit up, and Jessie does the same, the tension between us mirrored.

“How was your sleep?” I ask casually.

“Actually, not too bad.” He runs a hand through his messy hair.

And that’s when I see them.

From this angle, I can see down the neck of his T-shirt, and the black tattoos covering his chest are unmissable. I wonder how I never noticed them before. How long has he had them?

“I-I didn’t know you had tattoos. They’re beautiful.”

His discomfort at my statement is obvious as he stands and walks across to grab his button-down dress shirt, no doubt to cover himself properly.

I never expected my observation to cause such a visceral reaction, but it’s clear his tattoos are significant, and I want to know more.

I have zero idea what we are to each other, but he’s the one who came to me last night, and that has to count for something.

“Yeah, had them done a while back.” He shrugs on his shirt and begins hastily buttoning, working his way from the top down.

“What do they mean, Jessie?” I ask, my knees automatically coming up under my chin as I continue to watch him dress.

“You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“And you sure know how to avoid giving answers,” I counter, grabbing a tie from my nightstand and throwing my hair into a messy bun. “I thought it was an innocent thing to ask.”

Once finished buttoning, he drops his hands to his sides and makes his way over to me, where I’m sitting up in bed.

His eyes drift down my top half until he stops on the print of Darth Vader on the front of my shirt, and he flattens his lips together, clearly trying to hold back laughter.

“Don’t deflect with Darth,” I scold.

He slept in his pants, which are now wrinkled, but somehow still hug his thick hockey thighs perfectly. Grabbing his socks from the side of my bed, he sits next to me and begins pulling them on.

I don’t speak. I want him to be the next one to say something. To offer mesomethingabout his past that I know is connected to the artwork that covers his chest. But I know this isn’t going to be easy since he’s now sober and fighting me with everything he has.

“You know when someone tells you not to push the red button?” he asks, still focused on his socks.

I pinch my eyebrows together in confusion, even though he isn’t looking at me.

He must take my silence as acknowledgment since he continues, “Well, this is me telling you not to push it. Don’t try to deep-dive into something you know nothing about, because believe me, there’s nothing good for you there.”

“What do you mean?”

When he turns to face me, his expression is a warning. Not in a bad or angry way, but a concerned warning for me to stay away. “Why do you think I never invited you to my parents’ place when we were seeing each other back in Dallas, Mia?”

“Because we were a secret?” I reply quickly.

He edges closer to me, and I lean toward him until we’re only inches apart.

“Yeah, we were. But I told you, judgment from your dad was an issue, but not the real one.”

“Your parents. It has to do with them, doesn’t it? Are they bad to you?”

He reaches out and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his sharp eyes searching mine while his hand pauses on my cheek. His touch causes me to hold my breath.

“It has to do with my entire life, Sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.