Page 31 of The Intimacy of Skin

Who knew a piece of paper could feel so heavy in my hands? The remnants of the shredded envelope sat beside me on the beat-up couch Willow and I loved. Exactly seven days had passed since Price gave me a list of mundane tasks to complete, with one exception.

Our shift felt like it dragged on for years. When I got home, I immediately packed a change of clothes, toiletries, and my emotional support pillow, which I had never slept without.

Pilly, the pillow, had followed me from Arkansas.

She was one of the few things I’d refused to give up when Willow and I left.

Her silk pillowcase and heavenly memory foam held more sentimental value than I’d ever care to admit.

Unless there were extreme circumstances, Pilly came with me wherever my head would lie for the night.

I was nervous as fuck. Price falling asleep in my bed that first night had been a mistake. We were both worn out, too exhausted to part with each other during my emotional outburst.

Tonight, it was planned and implied that I would stay with him. It was another way to differentiate Price from any of my other clients, yet it was equally as terrifying as it was relieving.

I had put a time frame on us. Whatever us exactly was—I was too afraid to figure it out.

My attraction and draw to him was dangerous.

I hadn’t allowed myself the opportunity to get involved with someone on an emotional level since I was thirteen.

I knew that’s what would happen if I didn’t limit myself with Price.

Without a defined ending, I would fall for his gentle hands, amber eyes, and fragile, protective heart.

That wasn’t an option.

Not for me. I was too fucked up. My heart was shriveled, a husk within a corpse waiting to crumble to ash.

I couldn’t kid myself into thinking I could handle a romantic relationship with Price.

I had been rotten to the core for ten years.

My decay would only spread to him, tearing him apart from the inside out.

Fuck, he was tempting, though.

I groaned, throwing my head into my hands with enough force to sting. My ass had been attached to the couch for well over ten minutes, and I knew I needed to get going.

“You look positively torn.” Willow sounded her entrance, flopping herself onto the couch beside me.

I peered up through my hands, a scowl firmly in place. “That’s ’cus I am.”

She hummed just before grabbing the paper from my hands. No need for privacy, apparently. She opened the letter like it belonged to her, taking a moment to read it. “STD screening? This for your boyfriend?”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, right, yes. Your inevitable, then?”

I glared at her shit-eating grin. “I told you that in confidence in a state of vulnerability. Don’t make fun.”

“All right, all right. So, is he where you’re running off to?”

The back of my neck slumped against the couch as I rolled myself into a metaphorical early grave. “Yes.”

Willow gasped, pointing to my side. “Oh my God, is that Pilly? Are you staying the night?” she all but squealed. “Holy shit! I’m so glad I told you to see him again.”

Her excitement was appreciated, though unnecessary. I cringed at the pitch of her voice. “All right, all right. Don’t get too hopeful. It’s… temporary.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have an agreement of sorts. We’re going to be fuck buddies—for lack of a better word—for a while. We’re just helping each other out, yanno?”

Willow blinked at me slowly. One, two, three… her perfectly shaped brows knitted together as she tilted her head. I’d known her long enough to see that she was confused and about to rain down on me with questions. “But he’s your catalyst. ”

I gave her a warning glare, not afraid to throw down with my best friend.

“No, hold on.” Her knee pressed against my leg as she turned her body sideways to face me. “You told me he scared you. I’m not making fun, but you said he’s your inevitable. So why the fuck aren’t you going on a date? The way you talked about him, y’all shouldn’t be anything temporary.”

Was I man enough to tell her she was right? Of course not. The Bible Belt of the South may have failed in getting me to conform to the majority of their ways, but this one I was stuck with.

I settled with a mumbled “It’s complicated,” and silently hoped she’d take that as an answer.

She didn’t.

Willow rubbed a hand over her face, her exasperation showing through. “You like him.”

Not a question, a statement. “A little.” I shrugged.

“Not a little, Crew. You ain’t dumb, but you sure don’t act smart, do ya?”

“Jesus, Willow. That’s harsh.”

“Not harsh enough. I know I came off super strong, but I don’t mind the guy now that I have more information. Does Price not feel the same as you?”

“Dunno. He likes me enough to screw around.”

“Obviously. He’s sweet, though, isn’t he?”

I nodded, thinking back to our conversations. The way he made me feel safe, and each time I got all weird and emotional on him, he’d do whatever he could to make me feel better.

Willow stared in silence, her thinking face coming out to play. She had a faraway yet determined gleam in her eyes. “He definitely feels the same.”

“And how would you know that?”

Pilly landed right on my lap, a smirking Willow manhandling her like she wasn’t the most fragile, loved possession I owned.

“’Cus you’re a stubborn brat. I also just have a hunch.

The way you talk about ’im. The panicked look in his eyes when I went off on him, yet he sat there and took it like he wasn’t about to go nowhere. ”

“Willow, honey, your toxic positivity and Southern is showing— Ow!” I clutched my arm where she’d slugged me, tucking it against myself. “What the fuck was that for?”

All our years of friendship had prepared me for the fire in her eyes, yet it still made my veins pump ice when I saw it. “You’re being a dick, Crew.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think, you know. It’s complicated. I’m not relationship material. Price agreed to just fucking.”

She was like a dog with a bone. I could see it. The gears turned as she tried to think of the next way to force information out of me. “Who brought that idea up in the first place?”

I looked down at Pilly, running my fingers over her silk sheet. “Me.”

“I knew it! You don’t know if you’re relationship material because you won’t even try, so you decided on something mutually satisfying but lacks any emotional attachment.”

I turned my head, narrowing my eyes at her. “Since when did you graduate with a degree in psychology? I’m not calling you Doctor.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m serious, Crew. I get it, and I also don’t. You do the same hiding-away shit with me. I’m not a psychiatrist, I’ve just known you since we were kids.”

Yeah, I knew that. Willow knew enough about me to ruin my life in ten seconds flat if I ever ran for president. She didn’t know all my dirty secrets, but she knew enough.

Just like I do with her, she knew most of my tells. She understood the way I deflected conversation or hid information about myself.

It was the why she had no idea about. Why I was closed off. Why I detested emotional vulnerability. Why I sell myself to men who ruined my body, mind, and soul instead of trying anything real with someone like Price.

With a heavy sigh, I let the couch eat me alive. If I didn’t look at her, I could pretend I was speaking aloud to myself in the dark confines of a locked room. “I’m too scared.”

A warm, manicured hand covered one of my own. Willow leaned her head against my shoulder, her curly hair tickling my jaw. “I know. Sometimes, the best things in life scare us the most. You have to take a leap of faith and do it scared instead of not doing it at all.”

I imagined it was Mom talking to me instead of Willow. When I was younger, Mom seemed wiser. When I was sad or anxious, she’d scoop me up into her arms and give me the best advice that perfectly matched the situation.

If she didn’t know what to say or do, she’d tell me that.

“I’m not sure, honey. How about we figure it out together? Even old farts like me gotta keep learnin’ a thing or two. It’s how we stay young.”

Maybe all the stress I’d put on her made her stop wanting to learn. Instead, she chose the same kind of men and the same brand of alcohol to drown herself in.

Where Willow had learned to be so wise, I wasn’t sure. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, refusing to tell her that I wouldn’t do what she said.

It wasn’t just fear. It was the certainty that shit would blow up in my face and, subsequently, Price’s. Willow thought I could be relationship material if I tried. I knew I wasn’t.

No matter who I got close to, a ghost would follow. A demon that had followed me for over a decade and would follow me to my grave.

Thompson’s laugh echoed in my head, proving my point right then and there. It was nasally, no longer serene like when I was younger. In hindsight, I’d have covered my ears each time he’d opened his mouth if I knew what I did now.

If only I could forget the sound of his goddamn voice.

All right, I may have to rethink what Willow said.

Temporary could go out the window if it meant I could taste Price’s cooking regularly.

I’d been late getting to his house, so late that I didn’t notice he’d called me twice, trying to make sure I hadn’t gotten into a horrible accident on my way here.

When I arrived, he’d blown out a puff of breath, his face so deeply etched with concern that my heart had skipped a beat or two.

Price had been worried about me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Willow had worried about me like that. It was as endearing as it was terrifying.

Then, he’d sat me down to a feast worthy of a five-star restaurant. I moaned around my fork, letting my eyes flutter back as the flavors exploded on my tongue.