“No… I’m just…” She stares at the car with uncertainty. “I don’t know what I am, but thank you.” She plucks the car from my hand and faintly smiles before putting the toy into her pocket. “He’s going to think you’re the coolest person ever.”
“That’s because I am.” I nudge her side with my elbow.
“You really are.” She stares at me in a way that causes my pulse to quicken in both fear and desire.
Grabbing her by the hips, I drag her closer to me, needing her nearer, worried that at any moment she’s going to discover my sins and leave me. “Come here.”
Her lips quirk as I zero in on her mouth, and then she surrenders into my pull, our bodies colliding as our lips reunite. We haven’t kissed since her birthday, and fuck, we need to start doing it more because it’s fucking incredible. So full of want. Heat. Need. Life.
I feel completely alive for the first time in…
Well, forever.
As our kiss deepens, my fingers travel around to the back of her neck, to her tattoo she still has yet to let me see. The moment I brush the inked flesh, she shivers and shifts her neck away from my hand.
“Not yet,” she whispers, then continues to explore my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip.
“When?” I ask, gasping for air, completely consumed by her as I tug at her hair, pleading for her to get closer even though our bodies are already melded together.
“I’m not sure,” she breathes against my mouth. “Ask me later.”
It’s the first time she’s said not yet, which means she’s starting to consider letting me see the tattoo. She’s starting to trust me more, and I grow even guiltier for still having secrets.
I want to tell her.
But I can’t lose her.
“I’m not as amazing as you think,” I whisper helplessly.
“Yes, you are.” She swings her leg over me and straddles my lap.
My cock instantly goes hard as she grinds her hips against mine. I respond by gripping her waist and grinding back against her. At any moment, someone could walk around the house and see us, but I don’t care.
About anything other than her.
This.
Us.
I just wish I deserved it.
She moans as I bite down on her lip, her head falling back as my hands cup her breasts from the outside of her shirt.
“You’re an utterly amazing person who builds houses and makes me feel safe… who lets me cry in front of him… who gives Mason little toy cars… and who has the most amazing tongue ever...”
But I’m not who you think I am.
I wish I could say it aloud and that she’d be okay with it.
With me.
With my past.
But I can’t bring myself to tell her, so instead I remain silent, pretending to be someone else, being an imposter.
***
Later that day, I’m back at the motel. It’s late and I’m alone, feeling like shit. Avery is at work, and Nova and Quinton are out. Me, I have the night off. So I do some schoolwork then end up watching television and drown in my past sins until Nova walks into the room, looking bushed and bleary eyed, her shirt un-tucked and her shoelaces untied.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as she tosses the keys onto the table.
She nods as she flops down face first on the bed beside mine. “I’m just so tired… and I’ve been thinking… about Delilah… I just wish things wouldn’t have ended that way for her. And sometimes I feel guilty.”
I pick up the remote and turn the television off. “Yeah, me too.” I sit up and swing my legs over the bed, planting my feet onto the carpet. “But why do you feel guilty?”
She turns her head to look at me. “Because I knew about Dylan and didn’t help her. I tried to talk some sense into her a couple of times, but that’s it.”
“We all did that, Nova. And if anyone should feel guilty, it’s me. I lived with her and heard the fighting every day.”
“Yeah, but you had your own problems.”
“Problems I brought on myself.”
“Hey, I’ve been there, too.” She pushes up to sit on the mattress with the comforter tangled around her. “Drugs are easy to sink into. It’s the coming out part that’s hard.”
“Yes, it is,” I mutter, glancing out the window. “It still feels like drugs control my life so much.”
“Tristan, it’s normal to crave them still. And what happened with the neighbor… We’ve all had slipups.”
“I’m not talking about the neighbor,” I mutter, looking back at her.
Her brows knit. “Then what are you talking about?”
I shrug, staring at the space of carpet in front of my feet. “Some of the stuff I did… it still haunts me.”
“Do you want to talk about it? You used to talk to me about stuff all the time.”
“I know.” I lift my gaze to her. “But talking to you about it isn’t going to solve the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“Talking to Avery… because that’s the real problem… telling her about some of the things I did.”
Nova scoots to the edge of the bed. “You’re not a bad person.”
“You might not be saying that if you knew the truth,” I say miserably. “If you knew some of the stuff I did.”
She shakes her head. “You may think that, but trust me, Quinton told me a lot of bad stuff that happened while he was living on the streets. And, while I found a lot of it horrifying, I still wanted to be with him because I love him.”
“But Avery and I aren’t in love. We’re just friends.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Even if that’s true, if she was a real friend, she wouldn’t think less of you. And from what I know about her, I don’t think she will. She has her own shit, too, you know.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I mutter, still unconvinced.
“I’m just giving you some things to think about.” She gets up from the bed and pats my shoulder. “I think, when it all comes down to it, it’s really up to you and how close to Avery you want to be. If you care for her and want to be with her, then tell her. If you don’t, then don’t worry about it. We’ll be gone in a month anyway.” She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door, leaving her final words to haunt me.
What do I want exactly? Such a small question with a broad answer. I want to be happy—I’m starting to see that now. I want to keep improving. Want to keep going forward instead of backward. Want to go forward with Avery.