Page 13 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Rip

M y eyes snap open.

A sound. Faint. From the other room. Not that I was sleeping. At least not deeply. Not after what happened. Or almost happened.

Carley.

That almost-kiss. Her legs around my waist, nipples tight against my chest. I can still feel the heat of her breath against my jaw.

Still taste the promise of something dangerous on her lips.

The cold ocean did nothing to help. The cold shower…

even worse. My body’s been on high alert since she touched me.

Since she looked at me with heat. Jesus.

I was one second from sliding inside her. Right there in the goddamn water.

Fuck.

I shift, adjusting the pillow under my knee, trying to elevate the throbbing pain away.

Not sure if it’s my torn groin or something else…

The room is pitch dark, quiet. No honking horns.

No shouting neighbors. No footsteps pounding overhead.

Out here at the cottage, silence hits different, every little creak amplified, stretched.

Maybe I imagined the sound. Could’ve been the sofa creaking when Charley rolled over.

Charley. On the sofa.

I groan. Honestly, I still can’t believe I let her sleep out there while I’m sprawled across this massive king bed.

I was going to fight her on it again, but when I came out of the shower, she was already asleep.

Or pretending to be. Probably pretending.

That near-kiss spooked her. Hell, it spooked me too.

It’s a bad idea. Obviously.

…Right?

I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. We’re two hot messes, alone in paradise. Adults. Consenting. Wanting. Sure, we’re both kind of in a bad place. But maybe broken plus broken doesn’t equal disaster.

Maybe it equals relief.

Maybe it’s what we both need. Someone else’s skin to quiet the noise in our heads. Her mouth on me, mine on her, just enough to make us forget for one goddamn night.

There it is again.

A sound. Clicking this time. I sit up, listening hard. Should I check on her? Just to be sure she’s okay. Or to see if she sleeps naked?

Jesus.

I push to my feet slowly, stretching the tightness from my groin. Once the ache fades, well, not every ache, I creep to the door and crack it open. Silence. I step into the living room and scan the space. My gaze swings toward the sofa and my heart stutters when I find it empty.

She’s gone.

Did I scare her off?

Was one almost-kiss enough to send her running?

Jesus, I hope not.

She doesn’t have anywhere to go. I know that much.

If she did, she wouldn’t have broken into the cottage to begin with.

She’s stuck, just like me. Drifting. Looking for something to hold on to.

My eyes adjust, chasing shadows in the dark.

The front door is shut tight, a sliver of moonlight sneaking beneath it.

Then, suddenly, that light disappears, as though something just moved past it.

Someone.

I go still.

When the glow returns, I step forward, cautious, easing the door open inch by inch. A whisper of sea air greets me, cool and damp. And then I see her.

Charley.

She’s standing just beyond the door, back to me, arms crossed tightly over her chest like she’s holding herself together by force.

The sight of her hits me in the gut. She looks so fragile, exposed, alone in the moonlight.

My first instinct is to go to her. To hold her.

But maybe she wantsthe quiet. Wants to be alone with whatever’s clawing at her chest.

I start to turn away but the damn door creeks. She spins around, startled. Her face is damp. Eyes glossy.

Shit.

She’s been crying.

“Charley…” My voice is soft, apologetic. “I heard something. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Actually, it’s okay,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I could use the company.”

I step outside, careful not to disturb her, and she turns again to look out at the waves. The moon lights her hair like silver. My sweatshirt swallows her frame. She looks breakable. Beautiful.

“It’s breathtaking here at night,” she murmurs.

My gaze drifts down her back, her legs bare beneath the hem of my sweatshirt. “It’s not the only thing that is,” I say, before I can stop myself.

She doesn’t comment. Just breathes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask, moving in beside her.

“Not really.” She casts me a fast glance. “You?”

“Restless.”

I turn toward the ocean. “Lots on your mind?”

“A few things.” I catch the way she hugs herself tighter, but it’s doing nothing to quell the shiver running through her.

“You’re cold.”

“No… I don’t think I am,” she says, voice off. “It’s just, my body’s reacting weirdly.”

“Stress?”

A low sound leaves her throat, part scoff, part sob. “Something like that.”

I want to reach for her but hold back. She didn’t take her mother’s call earlier. Her voice cracked when she said she was fine. She isn’t. I know that now.

“What can we do to de-stress you, Char?” I ask, quietly. “Anything you can think of?”

“I usually play guitar. But it’s late. I don’t want to wake anyone.”

She shivers again. It’s not the cold. It’s whatever she’s holding inside.

“Do you want me to grab you a blanket?”

She sniffs, and that one small sound slices me open.

“No,” she says, too fast. “I’m okay.”

“No,” I say gently, honestly. “I don’t think you are.”

She swallows hard. The sound of it seems to echo in the night.

“Rip…”

“I’m here.”

She hugs herself tighter, like she’s trying to keep from unraveling.

“Thanks,” she whispers. “For being here.”

I lift my hands slowly, letting her see them first. “Can I…touch you?”

She’s silent. The moment stretches. Then she nods. “Yes.”

I move to stand behind her, and pull her carefully back against my chest. My arms wrap around her. My hands slide up and down her arms, slow and steady, chasing away her tremble. I feel her body slowly settle, inch by inch.

When she finally stops shaking, I tug her closer and sit on the fold out chair, pulling her into my lap.

She melts into me like she’s been holding herself upright for far too long.

My arms tighten instinctively, pulling her closer.

We don’t say anything for a long time. I just keep tracing light strokes up and down her arms, slow, soothing, repetitive. It’s all I have to offer her right now.

“Rip,” she says softly, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah?”

“It’s really nice to be… touched.”

My throat tightens. I don’t answer right away. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t trust what might come out if I do.

When I don’t respond, she tries to laugh it off. “God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I had a great day. I forgot everything for a while. But the second I closed my eyes…” She breathes out, shaky. “Real life rushed back in like a flood. Maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“It’s okay to feel that way, Char. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t felt the same these past few weeks.” I snap my fingers softly. “Your whole future, everything you thought was locked in, can disappear in a second.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes shadowed but open.

“I think I’m just… lost,” she admits. “I used to know what I wanted. Life was all about chasing the dream. But now, that dream turned into a nightmare. And suddenly, I don’t know what I want anymore. I only know what I don’t want.”

“That’s scary,” I say quietly.

She nods. “Scary for you too.”

I touch her face, fingers brushing along the soft curve of her cheek.

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she leans into the contact like it’s the only thing keeping her from breaking.

Then when she lets out a little sigh, it tears something open inside me.

Maybe what she needs tonight isn't advice, or solutions, or someone telling her it’ll all be okay.

Maybe she just needs…

To be touched. To be held. To feelsomething other than loneliness. Just for a little while.

“For the record,” I murmur, voice low, “I like touching you.”

I slide my hand around her back, draw her in tighter, let my thumb skim a line up her spine. She moans, soft, breathy, unguarded.

“That is nice,” she whispers.

She tucks herself into me again, her hand pressing against my chest, fingers splayed over my heart like she’s trying to memorize its rhythm.

I groan, quiet but rough, her touch doing things to me I can’t hide anymore.

My body reacts without permission. My dick stiffens, thick and insistent, pressed between us.

She freezes.

Her hand stills.

I stop breathing.

“Rip…” she says, her voice unsteady.

“Yeah, Char?” I whisper back, afraid to move, afraid to speak too loudly and break the spell.

“Everything about today was perfect,” she whispers. “But I’m such a mess, Rip. I want this—God, Idowant this. But I also don’t want to…use you. You’ve been so good to me. I don’t want to take advantage of you, or the situation.”

She’s unraveling right in front of me, not in a chaotic way, but in the quiet, brave way people do when they’re finally safe enough to speak the truth.

She feels safe with me.

I keep my voice low, steady. “This doesn’t have to be anything it’s not, Charley. No promises. No pressure. Just two people needing something real right now. A fleeting moment that becomes a memory—a good one. One we can hold onto when everything else feels like it’s out of our control.”

She looks up, eyes glassy. “But,” I add gently, tapping my temple, “If this is going to make things harder for you in here… if it’s going to tangle things up more…”

“I want this, Rip,” she cuts in, sure now. Her voice is soft, but her conviction is steel. “Tonight, I wantyou. I want to feel something that isn’t shame or fear or regret. I want to make a memory that doesn’t hurt.”

Something tightens in my chest, deep and aching. She chose me. Me. The guy with a torn groin, and an unsure future, and I won’t treat that like it’s nothing.

“Okay,” I say. “But you need to know something before we go inside.”