Page 54 of A Wreck, You Make Me

“You’re a pig,” I breathe out, licking my lips.

His nostrils flare at my action. “And you’re still fucking clueless.”

“Talk,” I say, my chest heaving.

“What?”

“I want you to talk,” I explain. “To me.”

“What the?—”

“Tell me something,” I cuthimoff for a change and get up in his face. “Did you hate seeing her here?” He frowns and I keep going, “With your brother? Is that why you kept your back to her the entire time?”

He grates his jaw as a response. Of course, he won’t talk about it. About her. About how he feels. If he’s so good at hiding things, I bet he’d hate if someone found out the truth about him. If someone saw him at his most vulnerable. But as I said to him just now, I don’t care. I am going to find out the truth about him. Or at least, force him to see it himself.

“I don’t care about your money,” I tell him, and he narrows his eyes. “But I’ll take it, if that’s what you want to keep the distance between us. What Ireallywant is for you to talk to me.” I lift my chin then, looking up at him belligerently. “That’s my price. If you want me to be your distraction, that’s what you’ll give me in return.”

Because honestly, I don’t even know why I was saying no to begin with. Yes, the money aspect makes it dirty and yes, my secret could ruin things between us. But again, who cares? If it makes me a whore, then the world can call me a whore. If he finds out our connection and hates me, I’m fine with that too. What I’m not fine with is him losing something precious to him because of everything that happened six months ago. I’m not okay with him losing something he’s worked so hard for, something that hedeserves. His place on the team, hischampionship trophy. And if he thinks I can help him with that, then I will. But not only in his way, my way too.

Saying my piece, I yank myself free from his grip and push at his chest. I’m a little surprised that he let me go, but I’m not going to question it. I need to get away from him right now. Just because I’ve agreed to sleep with him doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole, and I need some distance before I smack him again.

But of course, that’s too much to ask—somehow distance from him isalwaystoo much to ask—because just as quickly as he let me go, he grabs my hand back and jerks me over to him. I go crashing against his hard body, but instead of resting my hands on him, I use them to push at him. Again, he doesn’t go anywhere, but I don’t care.

“Let me go,” I tell him, keeping the pressure against him.

He’s roving his eyes over my angry features as he rasps, “In a second.”

“Now,” I order, glaring up at him. “I don’t want to be around you right now. And I gave you what you wanted, so let me go.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you’re mine.”

Why did he have to put it like that? Why couldn’t he have said something derogatory or mean, something that would make me want to hit him again? No, instead he looks like my answer could mean the difference between his life and a certain kind of death. That my ‘yes’ could really save him.

I refuse to melt, but I can’t stop my belly from quivering and my lips from whispering, “Yes.”

And then, he has to go ahead and do that. At my answer, he has to breathe out so long and large that his chest swells, grazing mine even though I’m trying to hold him at a distance, his sweet strawberry scent wafting over me. Before he leans over and frames my face, his thumbs caressing the apples of my cheeks,his shoulders almost curling over me as he rests his forehead against mine. AndGod, closes his eyes for a few seconds.

As if in relief.

In so much relief and gratitude, even, that I have to close mine too. I have to clench mine shut because they sting, my eyes. They burn with emotions that only he can invoke in me.

He flexes his grip on my face, making me open my eyes only to find his already on me. “I was an asshole.”

I swallow, gripping his wrists. “You were.”

He digs his thumb on my cheeks. “You did good, hitting me.”

His praise, as always, hits me right in the center of my belly. “And biting you.”

Something resembling amusement passes over his features before he gets serious. “Yeah. It’s just…”

“Just what?’

He takes a moment to think, or maybe simply to decide whether to say it or not. “My head’s all fucked up right now.”