Play (Stage Dive 2)

Of course, when he put it like that I sort of wanted to physically hurt him. Instead, I sat and waited to see where he was going with this.

“Don’t get mad,” he said. “Just stating a fact.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Liar. See, now this is why we should have gone to counseling when I suggested it right at the start.”

“What?” I scrunched up my nose. “When did that happen?”

“Day after I moved in, when we were sexting.”

“We weren’t sexting, we were just texting. You said you wanted to get a dog too, if I recall correctly. So I really didn’t think you were serious about counseling.”

The slow curl of his lips made something hot and delicious unfurl deep in my stomach. “Pumpkin, I’m always serious when it comes to you. Even when I’m messing around, I’m still serious as shit. Whatever you need, whatever I have to do. It’s been that way since we met. Haven’t you noticed yet? We’re f**king destined or something. I can’t help myself. It’s pathetic, really.”

“Huh.” I stuffed my hands beneath my thighs, giving his words a moment to sink in. “That’s what you figured out waiting upstairs?”

“Yep.” He shuffled closer, pressing his hip to mine. “Think about it. Things were shit and then I met you at the party and you amused me. I wanted more time with you and then I saw Ev’s side boob and Davie threw me out so I had to move in with you. I wanted to sleep with you and we accidentally broke your bed jumping around on it so you had to crash on the couch with me. I wanted to have sex with you and you got bored on the ride home and jumped my bones. See? Destiny.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s beautiful. But I’m not sure it completely makes sense.”

“It’s fate, Anne. Written in the stars. Leave it the f**k alone.”

“You’re crazy.” I hung my head and sighed. What else could I do?

“That’s better. Can’t stand it when you’re sad either.” His arm slipped around my shoulders, drawing me in against him. I grabbed hold of his fingers, just hanging on.

That was better. Everything would be okay. But there was still an issue I was curious about. “Why did you ask me to be your fake girlfriend?”

He shrugged, looked away. “I wanted to spend time with you. You make me happy.”

I scrunched up my forehead. “That’s all it was?”

“That’s pretty f**king important. Guess with Davie pairing up I was feeling a bit lonely or something. I thought we could be friends.”

I just stared at him.

“Needed a chance to get to know you a little better, just you and me alone. Moving in seemed a good way to do that. And you needed the help. Okay?”

“Okay.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

“Whatever shit you’re telling yourself, stop it,” he said.

“What? What are you talking about now?”

“Reece.” He rested his head atop of mine. “You’re worrying about him. Stop it.”

“Mal …” How could I explain this to him? The words were weighted in lead, impossible to get out. I hadn’t been thinking about Reece, but now that he mentioned it …

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I wiggled out from underneath him, needing to see his face. Since when could he read me and why couldn’t I do the same? He appeared calm and sure, beautiful as sin. His lips sat slightly apart, his eyes serene. Suddenly, the words weren’t so impossible to find after all.

“I hurt him.”

“Maybe. But he’s the one that left you hanging on. He hurt you too.”

“But I fix things,” I said. “It’s what I do.”

“You can’t fix this.” He toyed with my hair, wrapping the short strands around a finger.

“Why not?”

“You going to dump my ass? Send me packing?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

He smiled and shrugged. “There you go.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is. I’m your boyfriend now, which means there’s no room for your hipster admirer. He’ll just have to lick his wounds while we lick other things.” He raised a devilish eyebrow.

My head filled with so many needy questions. A hundred and one ways to beg him for reassurance. No god damn way any of it was getting past my lips. He was so insanely perfect and I’d had him inside of me. My body buzzed with the memories, sliding straight toward overload. I wanted him again. Maybe I should just shackle myself to his ankle and be done with it. This could be the answer.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” I said. “But I needed to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I know. I was being a dick.” He moaned, looked to the heavens. “That enough of an apology?”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I get Reece is part of your life. I’ll try to be nice to him.”

“Thank you.”

His hair was in his face again. Carefully, I tucked some behind his ear and then cupped his cheek.

“Hey, crazy eyes. Operation Fake Girlfriend is off,” he murmured. “In case you were wondering.”

“It is, huh?”

“Way I figure it, we’re together until we decide we’re not together anymore. Let’s not put too much thought into it. Let it sort itself out, yeah?”

It was a sound plan, considering we’d only started sleeping together less than an hour ago. “I approve.”

“Glad to have you on board, Miss Rollins.” He covered my hand with his own, pressing it against his face. “I don’t wanna be unduly crass or any shit like that, but I’m worried about something.”

“What might that be?”

“Your shirt.”

I opened my mouth, shut it. “My shirt?”

“I think it’s chafing you. Subconsciously like.” His eyes were intense, his expression grave.

“My shirt is chafing my subconscious?”

“No, I believe it’s chafing the delicate skin of your ni**les and the area around … what’s it called?”

“The areola?”

“Yeah, that bit. ‘Cause it’s all pink and sensitive, you know? It’s delicate, so I believe my concern with regards to the harsh and unyielding nature of your shirt is real important even though you have yet to acknowledge the discomfort it’s causing you.”