Page 100 of Trust Me

“I notice things too, you know. Do you want me to tell you what I see?”

“I’d rather talk about you.”

“No.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“You have friends, but you don’t spend a lot of quality time with them. Maybe some of them know about your situation at home, but you’re shackled by your pride, which tells me that it’s unlikely you’d share it with most people. You shared it with me, though.”

I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t fold that easily. Instead, I stared into his eyes, hoping he’d be the one to back down.

“You feel protective of me,” he went on. “The only other time I’ve seen that look is when you talk about your family. It wasn’t necessary for you to let me sleep in your bed, but you did. When we left that party together, something in you visibly changed. I’m not going to pick that apart because I don’t think that I need to.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because lately, when we’re near each other, you watch me. You’re good at hiding the emotions on your face, but I can see them. I see everything, Dean, and I’ve cataloged each one.” He leaned closer, then stopped just in front of me. “Protective, curious, and attracted to me. What would you call that?”

“Bullshit is what I’d call it.”

He breathed a laugh. I gritted my teeth when he reached forward to touch my chest.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ve spoken my truth, and I’ve given you a chance to speak yours. That’s all I needed, really.”

Even though his voice sounded nonchalant, his eyes fell to the mattress.

I threaded my fingers through his hair and tightened my grip. His lips parted as I tipped his head back.

“God, you’re . . .” I shook my head.

“What? Tell me what’s in that head of yours, you sexy bastard.”

“I don’t understand what you want here.”

“I want to know whether I should close this door. See, I just listened to my best friend tell me how he got hurt by the same asshole for the hundredth time, all because he’s so desperate to be loved that he can’t see what’s bad for him. I’ve never been one to chase something that’s not meant for me, so if you want this door open, even just a crack, you have to tell me.”

“No. I don’t want that.” I let go of his hair and dropped my hand to my side.

He nodded once and started to scoot backward, but I put a hand on his waist to stop him. His eyes lifted to meet mine, and I didn’t know what I felt. It made me not want to let him go knowing that this metaphorical door was about to be slammed in my face.

“I . . .”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“That sounds like a door that’s left a little bit open.”

“Maybe,” I muttered.

“Okay.”

“What does that mean?”

He wrapped his fingers around the back of my neck and pulled himself closer. My skin was on fire, more than it ever had been at a simple touch.

He was right; I felt protective of him. That was it. Somehow, it was playing with my emotions, but it didn’t mean anything. Not really.

“You should sleep on the couch with Remi,” I decided.