Changing Everything (Forgiving Lies #2.5)(28)

As I cracked open the door, my heart pounded against my chest when I saw Paisley lying on her stomach on my bed, right knee pulled up to the side.

Years of not seeing what was right in front of me . . . and somehow it still felt like I couldn’t believe she was finally mine. Somehow I’d known what she meant to me. I’d known and had just been too stupid.

Crawling onto the bed, I knelt down above her and placed light kisses on the back of her neck, moving around to her cheek.

“Wake up, beautiful girl.”

She squinted up at me for a second before closing her eyes again and trying to burrow under the comforter.

Brushing back her dark hair, wild from sleep, I let my lips trail across her exposed cheekbone and up over her eyebrow. “It’s Sunday morning, I have coffee and breakfast.”

“Sounding better,” she mumbled.

“I’ll give you the first bite?” I offered.

“Gettin’ there.”

“I need you to wake up so I can kiss you. It’s been hours.”

Her lips curved up in a smile. “Poor you.”

Nibbling on her ear, I whispered, “And I have a lot of touching to do.”

Red stained her porcelain cheeks when I leaned back, and her eyes were wide when she turned her head to look up at me. “Do you now?”

Keeping my weight on one arm, I pulled the comforter down enough so I could trail my free hand along her side until I got to where the shirt she was wearing had ridden up to her hips. Paisley pushed her ass up when I moved my hand between her and the bed, and as soon as I had my hands between her legs, she quickly wiggled away from the comforter and me, and jumped off the bed.

“What—”

She darted out of the room and down the hall, and I scrambled off the bed and took off after her. I found her standing in the kitchen taking a long drink from one of the coffee cups, and raised an eyebrow at her as I walked to stand behind her.

“So you run from me now?”

Tilting her head back so it was resting against my chest, she gave me a doe-eyed look. “You promised coffee and breakfast.”

“I did.”

“And then there were some things you wanted to do . . . so coffee and breakfast first.”

I planted my chin on her head when she looked down to unwrap one of the sandwiches. “I didn’t mean for those to be in order,” I grumbled.

She handed me the sandwich after checking it. “Well, you got your way last night, so I’m getting my way this morning.”

A slow grin crossed my face. “You enjoyed it.”

Paisley stilled against my body. “That’s embarrassing.”

Tossing the sandwich back on the island, I turned her around and bent down to look directly in her eyes. “Did you enjoy it, yes or no? Because if you didn’t, tell me now, Paisley, and I’ll never do that to you again.”

Her cheeks flushed again and she looked away for a second. “I did, I just—I don’t know how to feel about the fact that I did. Like I said, it’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I begged her. “It felt good for you, and I loved watching you come undone in my arms—that’s all that matters.”

“Still embarrassing,” she muttered as she turned back around and grabbed for her own sandwich.

“You’ll beg for it one day,” I assured her.

“Eli!”

“What?”

“I would really like to eat, and I’m not going to be able to if you keep talking about that.”

I was glad she couldn’t see me smiling. Picking up my food, I unwrapped it and held it in front of her for her to take the first bite before taking my own.

“Pay, can I ask you something?” I asked when I’d finished my food.

She turned around and leaned against the island, and just raised an eyebrow as she chewed.

“Why do you get on me for cussing?”

Her expression fell and she worked at swallowing as she turned and grabbed for her coffee.

“When we were younger I thought you were a prude, but then as we got older I thought it was just more of a running joke for us. It wasn’t until you cussed at me at the bar, and then everything went to shit, that I thought it might be something else. And I was just wondering if there was a reason.”

She laughed hesitantly. “It is more of a joke now, but I still don’t like it.” I stood there waiting for her to continue, and after a couple minutes, she took a deep breath in and shrugged. “My dad was an alcoholic. It wasn’t like he’d drink every night, thank God. But twice a week maybe? And when he drank, he drank enough to put ten men out for the night. Whatever he’d gone out to buy, he’d finish all of it every time. Mom hated that he drank, said he was blowing our money and trying to kill himself. She’d always start cussing at him. He hated cussing, and she knew it . . . but she’d keep throwing out words like she was goading him or something. Because he’d just yell louder and louder, telling her to stop cussing until he started throwing things at her or hitting her. And he’d hit her until one of them was unconscious.”

“Paisley,” I whispered, horrified. “How did I not know about this?”

Her brown eyes darted up to mine. “The funny thing about all this? He’s a pastor, or was; I don’t know what he’s doing anymore. I haven’t seen him since I was eleven. At church on Sunday we were the picture-perfect family for the congregation, but when he’d get the itch to drink . . . he’d go a few towns over to a liquor store and it would start all over again. I think that’s why my mom provoked him with the cussing, because she felt like she couldn’t just leave a man who would drink himself to sleep a couple nights a week and leave us without any money . . . she wanted to be able to say he was abusive. Something about divorce being wrong in the Bible.” Paisley rolled her eyes. “They were so hypocritical.”