In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(99)

She inhales, the deepness of the breath lifting her shoulders high as her head falls to the side and her hair tumbles off her shoulder. I think about reaching up with one finger and brushing the rest away. I think about touching her.

I don’t. I can’t. I shouldn’t.

“Your father just died, Casey. It hasn’t even been a week. We can talk about this later. It doesn’t have to be now. It can wait,” she says.

“My father died, Murphy. Mine. Not yours,” I say sternly. My brashness makes her cringe.

“Fine. Okay, fine!” she says, her hands fisted and shaking at her sides. I can see she’s growing angrier, her eyes tearing a little in mixed emotions. Good. Get angry. Don’t pick me, Murphy. Do not feel loyal. Be greedy.

“You should go to Nashville,” I say, praying she’s mad enough that she’ll just say yes and leave. Wounds are better when they’re fast. But nothing is that easy.

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head, looking down, more tears replacing the ones she just dried.

“Don’t stay here because of us. Noah Jacobs is not going to wait forever. And I’m not worth it, Murphy,” I say. She takes a step into me and her lip quivers.

I take a step back, but it only makes her completely fall apart.

“I don’t want to leave you!” she admits, her hand cupping her mouth fast. Hearing her say it out loud is both beautiful and tragic all at once. Her eyes come up to meet mine, and she shakes her head, begging me to ask her to stay, and god…I want to. I can’t bare it any more, and I touch her, grabbing her wrists, placing her fists on my body and running my hands to her shoulders, up her neck, under her eyes. I swipe away fast-falling tears, and she shakes her head, afraid.

“This is your shot. A real shot. Take it,” I say.

She shakes her head no. I nod mine yes. She collapses to my chest, and I hold her to me, rocking her slowly as my lips whisper “go” in her ear over and over. We remain like this for long minutes, and she never gives in; neither do I.

When I have to play through another mix, Murphy retreats to the corner again. She’s wearing her anxieties, their colors showing up all over her body—the grays deeper, her cheeks redder, her lips paler.

I fill my chest with the club’s dirty air and change the mood, letting sex and music meld into one, the thump deep and hard and felt in my bones. I set everything just right, and make sure I have time before smirking at my girl and luring her to me with the call of my finger. She leaves her things under her chair and comes to me quickly. The control I have over her isn’t good, and it’s the problem.

It ends now.

I lead her willing body down from my platform and into the crowd, and pull her to me close enough that I feel the curve of her ass against my body. I lower my head into her neck and taste her one last time, breathing deep to remember her perfect scent. If I do this right, I’ll need this memory in order to sleep again.

My hand starts at her thigh and runs up her leg, fingertips snagging the bunched silkiness of her dress on the way up. Her arms rise above her head automatically, and I follow the line, fingertips grazing the insides of her arms, and my mouth humming just behind her ear. I am temptation—Eve’s apple here for her to eat. I am nothing but a trap.

“Go to Nashville,” I say, and she shakes her head again.

“It’s too long. We’d never make it,” she says, her eyes on mine as she turns into me, and I circle my arms around her bare shoulders and tiny frame.

Thing is, if it were only going to be a few months, I would bet on us and convince her she’s wrong. But I know better. When Murphy leaves, she’s not coming back. She might not believe in herself, but I do. She’s going to be huge, and our run ends here in this club. Now. Because my life—at least for the foreseeable future—is here, with my mom, keeping that promise I made and seeing it through. Then keeping the one I made to myself and finally taking one of those leaps I talk so much about to other people.

Closing my eyes, I feel her one last time. I guide her hands into the air and move my body against her hips, my hands finding her waist when I know she’s lost to the dance, the sway taking over. We move together as one song shifts into another on my playlist, and from one heartbeat to the next, I step back, leaving nothing but our fingertips connected.

Her mouth parts as her head falls forward and her eyes land on mine. In a blink, what was moments ago a look of hunger, turns to lament.

“Go,” I say.

“I won’t,” she says.

I grimace and look down at my feet, searching for a better way to do this, but there just isn’t one. The more I beg the firmer she is about staying. Stubborn meets stubborn.

“I’ll make you,” I nod, not bringing my gaze up to hers completely.

“You can’t,” she says, and I laugh sadness. I’m sad because I can. I could walk up to the brunette grinding against her friend two feet away, high on ecstasy, and kiss her until Murphy hated me to the core. But I’m too selfish for her to hate me so much and for so long. I only want her to hate me a little.

“I just want what’s best for you, Murphy. You’ll regret not trying,” I say, one last attempt.

Her head shake comes fast and her smile seems so sure.

“I’m happy where I am,” she says, falling back into me. I take her because I’m weak. I hold her for the rest of the night and let her believe she’s won. I kiss her and memorize every curve and scent, and I don’t ask her to go again. She’ll only say no.