Page 85 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

Her face glistens with tears. They catch in the light like little sundrops, and I wish I could wipe them away. I know I can’t touch her yet, not until I’m invited. I clasp my hands and wait. I’ll wait forever if that’s what she needs.

Instead, she slides one small hand into the cracks of mine, filling it. “You didn’t know,” she whispers. “You weren’t part of planning it.”

I squeeze her hand tight. “I didn’t know. It doesn’t make up for everything, but I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want any of it to happen. Even then, your pain would have been like acid for me. Too painful to touch.”

Then she’s in my lap, straddling me, her arms around my neck while her face buries against my shoulder. Her snot and tears bleed into my hoodie, her trembling limbs holding on like I’m a lifesaver in a storm. I let her pain leech into me, wishing I could absorb more.

At least now she knows. She can hate me for failing to defend her, but at least she knows I never betrayed her.

The sun moves behind a cloud, softening the light from the windows. Brinley lifts her head to look into my eyes. It’s almost like she’s trying to burrow inside me, until she knows she’s safe. I hold her face in my hands and silently promise her that from now on, I’ll protect her.

I don’t ask her to say I love you. She doesn’t offer it.

She just lets her lips glide against mine in a soft sweep. Our breaths mingle, and a loose strand of hair falls onto my hand. I brush it behind her ear. My thumb drops to her pulse point, where I can feel her heartbeat resonating through me. She feels so small and delicate, so easy to hurt.

Her mouth opens for me, inviting me in. A moment of trust. I’ve kissed her a thousand times before, but she’s never been this soft with me, letting me lead. It’s like her walls have finally come down, exposing all her raw, vulnerable parts. To show her I deserve that trust, I touch her as gently as I possibly can.

I wrap one arm around her lower back to support her, my hand spanning across the opposite hip. My tongue and lips explore hers softly while my other hand strokes the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck.

Brinley lets out a little moan, and I wish I could save that sound in my memory like a computer file so I could play it whenever I want.

She pulls away first, setting her forehead against mine. “Do you want to unplug for a bit with me? I want to be far away from my phone right now.”

I grin. “I would love nothing more.”

I grab her phone off the coffee table and shove it under a couch cushion. Then, sweeping Brinley into my arms, I carry her into the bedroom and plop her on the bed. She bounces and giggles when she lands.

“Load up something to watch on your laptop,” I order her. “I’m making you breakfast.”

Her lip sticks out. “You’re not going to spend an hour in there making something stupid and fancy, are you?”

“Normally, yes. Today, I’ll just toast some of your Pop-Tarts.”

Her lips curl up the smallest bit. She’s listened to enough of my rants about how Pop-Tarts are just cardboard pieces pretending to be pastries. The fact that I’m making some for her, unasked, is enough to cheer her up.

Once I get back, Brinley has Gilmore Girls cued up on her laptop. It’s one of her top comfort shows, one I reluctantly started enjoying after years of having it play in the background. I sit with my back against the wall and Brinley sits between my legs, the laptop in front of us. Even though she only nibbles around the edges of her Pop-Tarts, I’m still glad to see her eat something.

Maybe it’s just my Italian side, but it’s my personal belief that nothing can get better until somebody starts eating.

It’s not long before my eyelids start getting heavy. I spent all last night tossing and turning. Now, with Brinley settled against me, my body finally gives up the fight for consciousness. I drift off to sleep.

It feels like we spend the rest of the day alternating naps, like we’re keeping watch to make sure nobody sneaks up while we’re sleeping. I fetch us the disgusting premade food from Brinley’s kitchen. Whatever villain invented “Easy Mac” needs to be shot into the sun. Eden must come home at some point, but I don’t hear her.

The next thing I know, it’s morning. Brinley’s in my arms in her bed. For the first time, I’ve slept over at her place.

I know that later, we’ll have to face the Peppermint backlash, but for now, for this one quiet moment, it feels like the beginning of something instead of the end.

30

BRINLEY

The sheets next to me are still warm when I wake up. Beau stayed the night for the first time, and I still managed to miss him in the morning. I’m about to be mad at him when I check the time and realize that it’s almost noon. Whoops. It’s well past time for most civilized, employed people to be awake.

I roll onto Beau’s side of the bed and snuggle into the pillow that smells like him. Other than my trip to Italy, I can’t remember the last time I slept in or took a day off. Of course, I didn’t close the Copper Cup today for a vacation. It was because of all the harassing texts and emails, all the people furious at me and at Peppermint. I couldn’t face the hate in person, and I definitely couldn’t send poor Trevor to deal with it.

I’m not sure when it’ll be safe for me to reopen the shop. If he was still talking to me, I’d ask Nate. Since he’s not, I guess I’ll have to take it day by day.

Even after many, many hours of sleep, I’m exhausted. The weeks of anxiety took their toll on my body. I lie back and let my limbs lay heavy on the mattress. Eventually, though, the need for coffee outweighs the need to lie motionless in bed.