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Chapter Fifteen

FALLON

I slumped against my door and groaned. What. The. Fuck?! I kissed her again?

It was the alcohol. That’s all it was. I just drank too much. I’ll go lie down, and tomorrow, this will all be over. We’ll go back to friendly passes in the hall. Yeah, staying friends is the best option.

I stood up and dusted myself off. Now if I could just find my damn keys!

My purse wasn’t even that big. Where were they? Oh, no… oh, no, no, no!

“Oh, no!” I whined, hitting my head on the door.

“Is everything okay out here?”

I whipped around to see Mackenzie standing at her door, looking concerned. I groaned, returning to my purse. “Uh, yeah,” I replied.

“Shit,” I whispered.

“So, not okay, then?” she teased.

I sighed. “I think I lost my keys. Somewhere between the arcade and here. I’m going to walk back there and try to find them.” I started heading down the hall when she yelled after me.

“Hey, wait, Fallon. The arcade is closed by now. It’s after nine.”

“Well, I can at least go to Reid’s and see if I left it in the bathroom or something,” I replied.

Mackenzie shook her head and walked toward me. “No, you can’t. It’s dark, and It’s not safe to go out on your own at this hour. Trust me, I’ve seen creeps hiding in the alleys at night. Look, you can crash on my couch until tomorrow morning. You can get your keys then, okay?”

I pulled the corner of my bottom lip between my teeth. “That is not a good idea. Like, at all, Mackenzie.”

“It’s not safe, Fallon.”

I laughed. “I know, that’s what I’m saying.”

“I’m serious! I promise, no shenanigans.” She smiled.

I paused for a beat. This was a terrible idea. But did I really have any other options?

She must have sensed my hesitation because she added, “Fallon, it’s late. And I don’t want you sleeping in the hall or the lobby. You can take the couch, and I promise I won’t bother you all night. There are no ulterior motives here. I just want you to be safe.”

I sighed, even though I knew it was a terrible idea. “Fine.”

When we got inside I walked to the couch.

“Do you want anything to drink?” She asked. “I have water, tea, wine…”

“Uh, wine is good.”

Wine was definitely not a good idea. We’d already had a few drinks at Reid’s , and more alcohol wasn’t exactly smart—especially if I was staying here. Yet, there I was, accepting a glass anyway. What was it about that woman that made all my common sense disappear?

“Wine it is.” She left and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. She sat down and handed me a glass.

“Thanks,” I said as our glasses clinked together.

“So, why Seattle?” she asked.

I turned to her, unprepared for her question. “What?”

“You said you used to live in Portland with your family, so why did you move here?” she amended.

“Oh.” I shifted in my seat, I guess we were doing this. I wasn’t sure how much information I should share with her, or how much I really wanted to bring up from the past. “After my ex and I broke up, she played the victim, and most of our friends took her side. They stopped hanging out with me and answering my calls. They even blocked me on all social media.” I paused, taking a minute to gather my thoughts and shake away the memory.

“I’ve wanted to live here for as long as I can remember. Growing up, seeing the city in movies and TV shows, I always thought city life was for me. My family was really supportive when I told them I wanted to move, but saying goodbye was bittersweet. I needed a fresh start—staying in Portland would’ve meant being stuck with memories of my ex.”

“And is city life for you?” she asked.

I smiled softly. “Yeah, I think it is.”

“What happened with your ex?”

I laughed nervously. There were just some things I wasn’t ready to share, not with her. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

Mackenzie shrugged. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Okay, well, what happened with your last relationship?” I deflected.

She flinched slightly, but it was still noticeable. It seemed I hit a nerve. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she stopped me.

“Okay, okay,” she said, putting her hands up. “Fair enough. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about ice skating as a kid.”

Now that I could talk about.

After bouncing between topics—from work to childhood hobbies—we eventually settled into a comfortable silence, sipping our wine.

“Do you want some more wine?” she finally asked when her glass was empty.

I smiled. “Oh, sure, only if you do. Can you handle more?”

“Yes. I think you’ll find I can handle quite a few things well,” she said with a wink. “Okay, maybe just one more glass.”

I grinned. “I agree, I think we can close our tab after one more.”

We got up and walked to the kitchen as she made her way to fill our glasses. I propped myself up on a stool at the island and smiled as she poured the wine.

The way her boobs looked in her shirt had my mouth going dry. I tried not to look, but it was impossible. I could’ve easily reached my hand inside her shirt, and exposed her perfect breasts. I was getting wetter than the wine glasses, and I definitely needed to calm down. I licked my bottom lip and smiled at her.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked.

I laughed. “I think the glasses are full enough.” I nodded toward them. She furrowed her brow and looked down to see the wine overflowing onto the counter.

“Oh shit!”

I laughed and hopped off the stool. “Something must’ve distracted you.” I walked around to help her clean up the mess.

“What? No! I—” She stopped abruptly when she caught me staring, not at her face.

“My eyes are up here,” she said jokingly.

Shit. I couldn’t take my eyes off her chest. I really was a boob woman.

“Yeah, but the wine isn’t.” I chuckled as I pointed to her very see-through shirt.

“Oh, fuck! Dammit!” She tried to wipe it off, but of course, it didn’t help.

I took the towel from her hand and placed it on the island. “Here,” I said quietly. “Let me help.” Her eyes followed my hand as it grazed the bottom of her shirt. She gasped when my fingers lightly brushed her skin. I grasped the sides and slowly pulled it up.

I should’ve stopped. I should’ve said something. Why weren’t my lips moving?

Instead of my lips moving, it was her arms. She raised them, letting me lift her shirt all the way off until she stood there, braless. Jesus, this woman!

The piercings. The tattoos. That perfect smile. I didn’t stand a chance. Sooner or later, I was going to cave—I just knew it.

She had a tattoo on her right shoulder—a vertical rose, its stem reaching toward the center of her chest. A sleeve tattoo covered her right forearm, a rainbow feather twisting from her elbow to just shy of her wrist.

I tried not to reach out and touch her, but the longer I stood there staring, the harder it became.

My eyes lingered before I finally looked back at her. I was sure she could hear my heart pounding from where she stood.

“B… better?” I asked breathlessly.

She nodded, but didn’t speak a word.

I handed her shirt back, watching as she set it on the counter without saying anything.

My pulse was racing, and my blood was so warm, the heat was rushing… everywhere. Wine was the wrong choice of beverage.

I’m not sure why, but I leaned in and gently kissed her lips, just once.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she asked as I pulled away. She grabbed my shirt and pulled me to her until our chests were touching. I took in a sharp breath, and I wondered if she noticed how it affected me every time she did that.

She connected our mouths, kissing me deeper. Every time we kissed, she broke down a piece of my defenses. The feeling of her tongue as it swiped my lips and begged for entry was catastrophic to my core. It was like her tongue was connected to my pussy from the second it touched any part of my skin.

Despite my protest, she pulled us apart, and by some miracle, I barely managed to get a few words out. “Um… maybe you should… go, and...”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. I probably should.” She licked her lips and I had to stifle a groan. Did she have any clue how sexy she was?

We stared at each other. No one was moving, or breathing. Finally, she turned and went to get a shirt.

When she left, I busied myself by working on cleaning up the mess and I let out a loud breath.

Okay, get it together. What are you doing? You can’t lose control every time you’re alone with her. Or in a public bookstore! You’re an adult, not some horny teenager!

Perhaps staying here was not a good idea, especially with more wine.

“Thank you,” she said when she came back. “You don’t have to do that.”

I looked up at her. “It’s the least I can do. I ruined your shirt, again. So, where were we?” My eyes left hers and went back to the spill.

“Well, if I recall, you were talking about how bad you want me.”

My eyes shot up to her and she smiled. “Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you?”

She laughed. “I mean, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” I rolled my eyes. She didn’t need to know that I did want her. Although, she wasn’t stupid, so I was sure she already knew.

We walked back over to the couch and she handed me a glass as we both sat down.

“Thank you.” We crashed our glasses together.

“But seriously, last time you were here, I told you about my parents. What’s your story?”

I put my glass on the table and looked at her. “About my parents? Oh, uh, I don’t know. It’s not a pretty one.”

She put her hand on my thigh, but when I looked down at the contact, she pulled it away.

She cleared her throat. “Tell me, anyway? If it’s too personal I get it, but I’m here to listen.”

I took a deep breath. “I was seven when it all started. My parents were always fighting—yelling, throwing things. Then my dad got laid off, and everything got worse. He started coming home drunk after poker nights with the guys—three times a week. Three times a week, he lost so much money and blamed us for it. He was always yelling at my mom, and sometimes at me. Cursing at her, calling her a whore. And sometimes… he hit her. Sometimes, it was a lot worse than just a little slap.”

“Fallon, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. If its too much, you don’t?—”

“No, it’s okay. My mom always defended him. She said it was the alcohol, that he was just stressed because of work, and that she didn’t make things easier for him. Those were always her answers. She was clumsy—always tripping down the stairs or bumping her eyes and lips on something. I never said anything. How could I? I was just a kid. When I was thirteen, I tried to speak up more, and defend her. She didn’t deserve it, and I felt it was my job to protect her if she wouldn’t protect herself. I’d try to get between them, but he’d push me aside, and I’d end up on the floor.”

Tears formed in my eyes, but I pushed them down. She had shared her hard story with me. I owed her the same in return.

I lifted my shirt to show the scar on my ribcage.

She gasped and I felt the warmth of her hand on my thigh. This time when I looked down at it, she didn’t pull away. “He did that to you?”

I took a deep breath and nodded. She grazed her fingers slightly over the scar, and I flinched a little, causing her to jump and pull her hand away. I grabbed her wrist before she could get too far. “It’s okay, you won’t hurt me,” I whispered, bringing her hand back to the scar.

She traced it, and I shivered at her touch. I didn’t know why I let her, but she was so gentle, as if I were a piece of thin ice covering a river, and the slightest pressure might crack me open.

“Didn’t you see it the other night?”

She shrugged. “I was too distracted with the rest of you.” She smirked. “I caught a glimpse, but I felt like it wasn’t my place to ask about it.”

I smiled and put my shirt down. “I got this when I was fourteen. My dad came home really drunk one night and beat my mom so badly she was borderline unconscious on the couch. I decided I’d had enough—I would be her voice when she couldn’t speak. I yelled at him, and he gripped my throat. I tried to fight him—punch him, do anything I could to get away. Finally, I bit him, and he let go. He had a letter opener in his hand, probably from opening another past-due bill. As I ran up the stairs, he caught me and turned me around, I guess not realizing he still held the letter opener. It cut me. He dropped it after hearing my scream. He walked away after that, and we never saw him again. When I was seventeen, she finally filed for divorce. She knew he wouldn’t object. Somehow, she knew where to send the papers, and he sent them back—signed—without so much as a phone call. She was terrified when she filed, and I didn’t think he would let her. But I guess that night, he finally realized he’d hit his lowest point, and something changed.”

“Where is he now? And how is your mom?” she asked as she cautiously wiped the tears from my eyes, letting her hand linger briefly before pulling away.

It felt like she was testing the boundaries of more contact between us, and I was letting her. Keeping my distance was getting harder by the minute. Every second around her pulled me closer to something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

I gave her a sad smile. “I don’t know where my dad is, and I don’t care. He hasn’t tried to contact us since, so I won’t curse a good thing.” I laughed, trying to ease some of the tension. “As for my mom, she’s in a happier place in her life now. My stepdad, Brandon, loves her, and he’s so good to her. I tried to talk to her about my dad a few years ago, but she just squeezed me tight and cried. I never brought it up again.”

She wiped away more of my tears and started to pull her hand back, but I stopped her, placing my hand over hers. I wasn’t ready to lose the comforting contact just yet. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“Thank you for sharing with me,” she said, softly caressing my cheek with her thumb. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“It’s okay, really. I don’t talk about it much, and it was kind of nice.” It oddly felt good to talk about it with someone who wasn’t family—someone without an inside opinion. Someone who would just listen.

She looked at me for a moment longer. There was something in her eyes, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was.

“What?” I finally asked when she still hadn’t said anything. I couldn’t take the silence any longer, and her stare was making me itch inside of my skin.

“Nothing,” she said. She removed her hand and cleared her throat. “Uh, it’s getting kind of late. We should get some sleep.”

“Right,” I replied softly.

“There are pillows and blankets in the hall closet, and if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I smiled and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for today,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Fallon,” she replied, walking to her room without so much as a glance back.

After gathering my arsenal of sleep essentials, I plopped down on the couch and made myself comfortable. I buried myself in a fleece blanket, large enough for two people to snuggle under, soaking up its warmth and security. The blanket wasn’t light, and its added weight provided a hug I hadn’t realized I needed. I couldn’t help but inhale its scent, a small smile dancing on my lips as I did. It was amazing how, even after hundreds of cycles through the washer, it still smelled like Mackenzie.

It still felt a little weird sleeping on her couch, but after the wine and talking about my family, I was exhausted and didn’t think about it much. I fell asleep pretty easily.