Page 17 of Summer Brew

It made her a terrible liar while we were growing up; it was something I always found refreshing when around her. When did I forget about that?

“You look worried,” I prod her gently.

Gemma gnaws on her lower lip while looking up at me from underneath her lashes. “I am a little,” she whispers the words like she doesn’t want me to really be able to hear them.

From the way her cheeks turn pink, I know she’s embarrassed. It takes everything in me to stop myself from telling her how adorable she looks.

And sexy, I’m reminded as my gaze slides over her naked shoulder.

Knowing she’s completely naked and pressed against my body is almost too much for me to take. My cock throbs and I’m desperate to be buried inside her again.

Now is not the time for that.

Soon.

“What are you worried about the most?”

I can tell from the faraway look in Gemma’s eyes that she’s seriously considering my question instead of brushing me off. It’s a simple act of trust, easily given and taken away, but it settles something in me.

Her eyes close and I watch pain flit across her features. “That you’re about to take a breath and form a sentence containing the words regret or mistake.” My heart fucking aches when she shakes her head like those words are inevitable. “That’s the nightmare. Those words.”

“Gemma,” I call her name softly.

All she does is shake her head, this time more forcefully. She’s digging her heels in; it would be adorable if I didn’t need her to look at me.

I need her to see my eyes.

“Gemma,” my voice drops lower, “look at me.”

“I don’t want to, Keaton,” she sasses with a pout thrown in at the end.

“Do it anyway,” I command.

Finally, her eyes open. Slowly. But they open.

Her aqua-colored eyes hold me captive. I haven’t allowed myself to be close enough to appreciate them in far too long. They sparkle with something earned now, something which is only given when you’ve lived for yourself for a little while. It looks good on her.

“Being with you was not and will never be a mistake,” my words are earnest when she finally meets my gaze. “I do not regret it.”

“But aren’t you afraid of what Gary is going to say?” The question is filled with nervousness, but then I can almost see something like realization fill her face. “Or are you planning to never tell him?”

I can hear so much disappointment in her question and it guts me. Is that really what she thinks of me? Have I even given her a reason to think differently?

Even last night, when I showed up, I didn’t use the front door. Damn it, I might have fucked this up even more without even realizing it.

“No,” I bark out the word, and she startles slightly in my arms. I soften my tone slightly, “That is not what I meant at all.”

She looks at me and the uncertainty on her face feels like a knife piercing my skin. I push the feeling away because I’ve done nothing to earn her trust recently and I can’t keep expecting it when it is based on a past I’ve basically ignored for years.

“You are not anyone’s secret,” my words are fierce like they’re forged in steel and resolve.

Maybe they are.

“I am afraid of what Gary is going to say,” I admit to her because I need to be honest.

I’ve already wasted too much of her trust in me. It wasn’t all that strong to begin with, not with how long I had allowed it to wither away because I wasn’t willing to acknowledge what lives and breathes in the connection between us. I have no idea how I could have forgotten something so important, but here we are.

What I can’t afford to be is dishonest. I can’t spin the truth to make it easier to swallow. I’ll only end up pushing her away farther and the thought of that happening to us makes my stomach churn.