What I don’t say is that my spending time with Mrs. Henkel was typical selfish Colt. I was lonely. I’d walked away from all my boys from the hood, all of them except Split, and I was lonely. Mrs. Henkel was a friend, a chance to be around someone who was good influence on me. She’d probably have shit her Depends if she knew half the shit I’d done, and I think she knew that, since she never asked.
Finally, I go silent, the subject of dead Mrs. Henkel exhausted.
“Explain what you meant,” she says.
“About what?” I know exactly what she meant, but I couldn’t let on.
“Why aren’t you any good? Why would it be taking advantage of me?”
I set the guitar on its side and take a pull off the bottle, hand it to her. “I’m…fucked up, Nell.”
“So am I.”
“But it’s different. I’m not good. I mean, I’m not evil, I have some redeeming qualities, but…” I shake my head, unable to put it into the right words. “I’ve done bad things. I’m trying to stay out of trouble these days, but that doesn’t erase what I’ve done.”
“I think you’re a good person.” She says it quietly, not looking at me.
“You saw what I did to dickhead Dan.”
She snorts. “Dickhead Dan. Fitting. Yeah, I saw, and yeah, it scared me. But you were protecting me. Defending me. And you stopped.”
“Didn’t want to, though.”
“But you did.” She yawns behind her hand. “You’re selling yourself short, Colton. And you’re not giving me enough credit to know what I want.”
“What do you mean?” I know what she means, but I want to hear her say it.
“I kissed you back. It’s crazy, messed up, and it confuses me. But I did it eyes wide. Knowing. I wasn’t drunk.” She looks at me past long, dark lashes, eyes saying a thousand things her mouth wasn’t.
My mouth goes dry. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“But you did.”
“Yeah. I’m an ass**le like that. I just can’t help it, around you.”
“I don’t think you’re an ass**le. I think you’re sweet. Gentle.” She says it with a little smile.
I shake my head. “Nah. It’s just you. You bring that tender shit out of me. I’m a thug, Nell. Straight up.”
“Ex-thug,” she counters.
I laugh. “Once a thug, always a thug. I may not run the streets anymore, but it’s still part of who I am.”
“And I like who you are.”
I stand up, uncomfortable with where this is going. “It’s late. We should sleep.”
She glances at the sun, which is peeking between a couple high-rises across the street. “It’s early, but yeah. I’m exhausted.”
I take her guitar and hold her hand as she steps onto the stairs. I like how her hand feels in mine. I don’t want to let go, so I don’t. Neither does she. Nell stops at the bathroom, and I change into running shorts. Finally, I let myself feel the pain from the fight with Dan. I stretch, feeling my ribs twinge, and I probe my loose tooth with my tongue, wince at the dull ache. At that moment, Nell appears beside me with a washcloth. I eye her warily, then pull away when she reaches for my face.
“I’m fine,” I growl.
“Shut up and hold still.”
I roll my eyes and bring my face back within reach. Her touch is far too gentle for a rough bastard like me. She touches my chin, turns me to the side, brushes the cuts and bruises as if frightened to hurt me further. I stop breathing from her proximity, from the drunk-making wonder of her scent, shampoo and lemons and whiskey and woman. She turns my head again, wipes the other side of my face, eyes narrowed as she focuses on wiping away the crusted blood. I’d cleaned up a bit while she was in the shower at her place, but apparently not well enough. She wipes my upper lip, my chin, my forehead, my cheekbones. Then she lowers the washcloth and runs her fingers over my face, touching each cut gently, exploring.
I hold still and let her touch me. It scares me. She’s looking at me as if seeing me for the first time, as if trying to memorize how I look. Her gaze is intense, needy. Her thumbs end up brushing over my lips, and I bite one of her thumbs, a little hard.
Her eyes widen and her nostrils flare, and she sucks in a fast breath as I run my tongue over the pad of her thumb.
What the f**k am I doing? But I can’t stop.
This time, she leans in. Pulls her thumb from my mouth and replaces it with her lips. Her tongue. This is so crazy. I shouldn’t let it happen.
But I do. My god, I do. I kiss her back with all the hunger inside me. We’re in my room, just inside the doorway, inches from the bed. It would be so easy to spin her around and lay her down, peel her clothes off, and…
I pull away. She sighs as I do, and it’s a disappointed sound.
“You keep stopping,” she says.
I slip back out of her arms, reluctantly. I’m confused, messed up. I want her, but some vague voice in my head tells me it’s wrong to have her. Part of me says we belong together, tells me to cradle her close and never let go. She seems to want me, and I want her…but I know—I know—I’m not good enough for her.
“We need to sleep,” I say. “You can have the bed.”
I turn away, but her hand catches my elbow.
“I don’t want to sleep alone,” she says. “I’ve slept alone for so long. I just… I want to be held. Please?” She’s vulnerable again, suddenly.
I shouldn’t. It’s tempting and I haven’t figured out what’s right or wrong. But I can’t say no.
“I could do that,” I say. “I would love nothing more, if I’m being honest.”
Nell
Chapter 9: Ghosts; One Breath at a Time
Every single fiber of my being is screaming at me. I’m liquid in his arms. Fire burns in my veins. Guilt and peace rage in my brain, warring.
I told him. I told Colton my secret guilt. I cried. I sobbed for hours. Hours and hours. I don’t even know how long. And god, did that feel good. But the guilt remains. I know it’s ridiculous. I know, but goddamnit, I can’t shake the guilt.
And now, it’s all compounded a million times by Colton’s brawny arms around me. God, I still can’t fathom the raw, savage, masculine glory of the man. I hadn’t seen him in two years, and then I saw him on a bench—singing that song of things—and he’d bulked up in that time. Hardcore. He’d been a beast at the funeral, stretching the sleeves of his suit coat. Now? Holy hell. My mouth went dry as a desert when I saw him busking outside Central Park. Ink-black hair down around his eyes and curling above his collar, messy, shaggy, perfect. His eyes, those hadn’t changed, soul-spearing sapphires. But his body? Oh god, oh god…ohmigod.