Playing with Fire

But I could kiss Texas to oblivion and back, without coming up for air. My thoughts sounded like a dated Hallmark card, but that didn’t make them any less true. Or any less goddamn disturbing, for that matter.

Her hand slid across my pecs, down my six-pack, her fingers curling over the first button of my jeans.

“Wanna get out of here?” Her lips traced mine as she spoke.

I unglued my mouth from hers, studying her face. She looked sober, and I was one hundred percent positive she didn’t want to go to the concession booth for more stale popcorn.

“I only have one condition,” she warned.

Was it the moon she wanted me to give her? I was open to that. I’d give her the sun, too. I just needed a little time, and maybe a loan or two.

And definitely good life insurance.

“Lay it on me.”

“I don’t want to become one of your Tesses or Melanies. No one-night only rule for us.” She shook her head. “I want you to treat me with respect and care. I know we’re casual, but …” She sucked in a breath, her voice dropping along with her gaze. “For me, it means something. To open up again. Promise you won’t break my trust, West.”

It was the drunkenness of the moment that made me do it.

Forget about my oath to myself. Piss all over my promise not to make any promises.

All I thought about was being inside Grace. To drown in her purity, hoping some of it would rub off on me.

“Promise.”

The word rolled out of my mouth before I could stop it, tasting like ash. I couldn’t take it back. It was there, between us. Alive, swelling, and growing by the nanosecond, pressing against my sternum, making it hard to breathe.

Promise.

Promise.

Promise.

Remember what happened the last time you made a promise?

Grimacing at my own stupidity, I took her hand.

“Let’s dip.”

Twelve minutes later (yes, I counted), we were in front of Texas’ house. Marla had just finished her shift, skipping down the porch’s steps, pushing a cigarette into her mouth and lighting it up.

“That’s all she wrote, kids. Have fun and keep your hands to yourselves. You especially, St. Claire.”

Grace stood on the first stairway leading to her doorway. The sunset smeared across the sky in pink and orange around her, making her look like a fallen angel.

Apparently, I was now taking note of the fucking scenery and waxing poetic.

I wanted my balls back, but I wanted them slamming against Grace’s pussy even more.

“Do you want to come inside?” She jerked her thumb behind her shoulder after Marla left.

“Any man who tells you differently is buying expired condoms in bulk.” I leaned against Christina casually, trying hard to pretend I didn’t care, when I’d already proven to be so far gone for this chick I wasn’t even in the same zip code as my fucking brain anymore.

It took Tex a second to get it.

She wrinkled her nose. “No bulks for you, huh?”

I shrugged. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like to treat my companion to a good time that includes no-strings-attached or unexpected trips to the pharmacy.”

“Such a fine gentleman.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And to think I always pegged you as a surly ass.”

“I am.”

“Not with me.”

She wasn’t wrong. Maybe that was why I couldn’t keep away from her, even when every bone in my body (other than my boner) begged me to.

“You remind me of how I was before.” I pretended to wipe invisible dust from my Ducati to do something with my hand.

“Before what?”

“Before everything.”

We stared at each other. Church bells rang in the distance. She took her ball cap off, clutching it between her fingers in her lap. Even though no words were spoken, I knew she was inviting me in.

I took a step.

Then another one.

She didn’t stop me.

By the time I got to her, my toes touching hers through our shoes, we were both breathless.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” she croaked, tilting her face up. It was the most I’d ever seen of her face. Still full of makeup, but sans the ball cap, the sun sinking its claws inside her skin.

I took her hands in mine.

“Let’s find out together.”

It was the first time I’d been inside Grace’s room. Her grandmother sat in front of the TV, half-napping, half-cursing at VH1 for their poor video clips choices. She looked about as static as the sound coming from the monitor, but pointing it out to Grace seemed counterproductive. Not only for the blood-filled salami between my legs, but also because Tex seemed adamant not to send Mrs. Shaw to a nursing home.

Texas’ room was exactly what I would have expected from Grace Shaw before her scars: peach-colored walls filled with pictures of herself with her grandmother and groups of smiling, wholesome friends. White embodied linen, pompoms, and tickets to plays and movies she’d gone to pinned onto a board along with handwritten letters. It didn’t escape me that her room was in fairly good condition and probably redone after the fire.

She’d wanted to keep being the person she’d been before.

Had hoped that would be the case, which made her tragedy so much more painful.

Grace Shaw was the exact opposite of me.

I tore apart everything that resembled my life pre-tragedy. She held on to hers for dear life, refusing to let go.

I stood in her room, waiting for her to come upstairs while she checked in with Mrs. S. She appeared at the door holding two glasses of iced tea. I didn’t know when or how, but she’d managed to put even more makeup on her face between the time we rode home and now.

Tex went ham with the foundation. It looked like she had an extra face, and I couldn’t imagine it was better than the real thing. Plus, that damn ball cap was on again.

We stood there staring at each other.

“Hi,” she said again, nervous. “Maine.”

“Texas.”

“How do you like our weather?”

What the fuck were we talking about? I was only half-sure.

I swallowed. “It’s very fine.”

I took a step closer.

She stayed put.

I took another step closer.

The swell of her breasts rose as her breath hitched. I was throbbing so hard, I felt my pulse in my dick.