Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
What am I thinking?
A future with Cross Carlson can never be. Not just because of his father: for a lot of reasons. Reasons I will never tell him.
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Abruptly, I pull away from him and force my body off the bed. Cross’s eyes are wide. “Where are you going?”
I find my leggings and start to pull them on, looking down at what I’m doing, throwing him a glance as I search for my shirt. My heart is pounding hard, a warning of what I’m about to lose, but I never had it. Now the only thing to do is go.
Cross is up a few seconds after I am. I steal a glance and find his face is carefully neutral as he pulls his jeans on, then looks up at me, a breathtaking man in sexy jeans. He holds my gaze. “Where are we going?”
“Tell me the truth,” I say, straightening my shirt as I attempt to bide my time; weaken the blow; shift the blame; something. “None of this is guilt? Really?”
His eyes widen like I’ve suggested he murders infants. “No, of course not.”
“So it’s lust?” I smooth my bra and torn shirt, then force myself to look back up at him. His mouth is open and he’s wearing an expression that says it’s a lot more complicated than lust. I know I can’t stand to hear what he will say, so I cut him off. “Even if it’s only lust, it can’t go anywhere after this.”
“Why not?” He looks annoyed, but I can already see through it. He’s shocked; he’s working his way to upset. I’m going to hurt him.
I need to make this sound logical—like it’s not based on secrets and omissions from my past. I heave a deep breath and tuck my wayward hair behind my ears. “What if I want to write about my experience? What if I want to confront your father? How do you know he won’t show up here right now?” I take a step back, bumping into a dresser, and Cross takes a small step toward me. The look on his face is enough to break my heart: so earnest, with something warm glowing in his pretty eyes.
“I don’t,” he says. “But I know that I’ll protect you. I’ll always try.”
Always. He said ‘always’. I pretend he doesn’t mean it.
“You would turn in your own father?” I ask him.
He nods. “If that’s what you want.”
He looks so sincere, that I feel tears spring into my eyes. I want to throw something else at him, some other reason why this just can’t work, but my throat is closed up tight. “I just don’t understand,” I cry. Oh yeah…I’m crying now. Crying wasn’t in my plan, so I turn to face the wall.
Cross’s hand touches my back, gentle as you would be with a baby, and before I can gather my defenses, he’s turning me into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, and murmurs, “Talk to me. Tell me why you’re upset.”
I can only cry harder, because I can’t answer that. I can’t say anything to him. Or rather, I know I won’t. I just stand there, relishing the comfort he’s doling out like the selfish girl I always am, and I don’t say anything at all. My mind is racing. Finally, I push away and look into his eyes. “Is it because you know I never had sex with any of them? With your father, with Jesus, with anybody else I didn’t choose? Is that why you can…be with me?”
He frowns. “That helps,” he says frankly, “but that’s not why.”
“Then why?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” He rubs his hair, the motion sharp; frustrated. “Why are you here with me? Is it obligation? Pity?”
“No,” I rasp. “I just…really like you.” I should never have said it, but I couldn’t seem to keep it in.
“That’s how I feel,” he says gently. “You’re very likable. And lickable.” He touches his forehead to mine. “I just like you, Merri. Isn’t that enough?”
I pull away from him and make some space, so there’s no chance he’ll touch me when I say this. “You don’t know everything about me.” My voice is shaking. I’m about to lose it, so I know I need to go. “You don’t get it, Cross. Things have happened to me that can’t unhappen.” I choke on a sob. “I just don’t get… How can you not judge me? What if I told you that I did have sex?”
His face goes slack. “With…who?”
“What if it was your father? It could have been Jesus or...damnit, anyone! Would it matter?” He shakes his head, and I raise my voice. “Tell me, would it matter?”
His face is so taut, so unhappy, that I feel a sweet wave of relief. This is it. He’s going to walk away and I won’t be to blame. It won’t be my choice.