The Lovely Reckless(52)
The scars on Deacon’s neck and arms—the ones that look like someone slashed him with a knife.
“I wasn’t there,” he says softly. “I should’ve been there.”
“It’s not your fault. Sofia is okay. More than okay. She’s smart and funny and beautiful. She’s fine.”
Marco pulls back and looks at me. “You think she’s beautiful?”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course I do. But not everyone sees past her scars. What happens when some guy won’t go out with her because of them?”
“Sofia can handle it. Sometimes scars make people stronger.”
Before I realize what he’s doing, Marco presses his lips against mine.
My mouth tingles, and the sensation travels all the way down to my toes. The Night Train must have dulled my senses the first time we kissed, because as incredible as that kiss was—this one sets every nerve in my body on fire. My hands move to his chest, and his heart pounds beneath them.
Marco responds by drawing me closer. His tongue finds mine, exploring and teasing. He tugs on my lip with his teeth, and I fall apart.
Our bodies melt like they belong together.
Like we belong together.
But I can’t belong to anyone again.
I pull back and turn to lean against the whiteboard next to him, breathless. “This isn’t a good idea … whatever we’re doing.” Making out?
Kissing Marco feels like more.
He pivots in front of me and cages me against the whiteboard with his arms. “Why does it feel like you’re always running away from me?”
Because I am.
If I was braver, I’d tell him the truth—that I’m scared to feel anything or need anyone.
He runs his hand along my cheek, and I close my eyes. I’m feeling too much again, and all I want to feel is nothing. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
Because if I let myself feel one thing, I’ll feel everything. Because if my walls come down, the dam inside me will break, and I’ll drown. Because I can’t risk losing someone else I care about.
I stare at the ground, hiding behind the long waves falling over my shoulder.
Marco tucks my hair behind my ears and raises my chin. “I don’t want to stay away from you, Frankie. I’m not even sure I can. But I’ll try if that’s what you want.”
The thought of not seeing Marco—of not touching him—rips at the seams holding me together. I suck in a trembling breath. “It’s not.”
He pulls me against his chest and kisses his way up my neck until he reaches my ear. “What are you so afraid of?”
“Everything,” I whisper.
“Me too.”
CHAPTER 24
THE SAME SKY
I don’t want to stay away from you, Frankie. I’m not even sure I can.
I replayed my conversation with Marco over and over last night instead of sleeping, and those are the words that make me smile into my pillow. With his arms wrapped around me and his breath against my skin, he seemed so vulnerable.
Burrowing deeper under the covers, I close my eyes and remember kissing him. Our hands aren’t the only parts of our bodies that fit perfectly. When we kissed, it felt like we were made for each other.
My cell phone rings, and it takes a few seconds to untangle myself from the covers. It’s probably Lex. “Hello?”
“Frankie?” I hear Marco’s voice at the other end of the line, and I sit up with a jerk. He asked for my number last night, but I didn’t think he would call. Not right away, on Saturday morning, while I’m daydreaming about him.
A rush of warmth spreads through me.
“If it’s too early, I can call back later.”
“Don’t call back,” I blurt out. “I mean, it’s not too early.”
“You sound like you just woke up.”
And he sounds amazing.
“How can you tell?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Your voice is even sexier than usual.”
Sexy? I’ve been called cute and pretty and, once in a while, even beautiful. But not sexy.
I laugh. “I think you might need a hearing aid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hearing. You have the kind of voice that keeps guys up at night.”
I’m speechless.
“So … I wanted to ask you something.” He hesitates. “Were you serious last night about not wanting me to stay away from you?”
I wind a section of my long hair around my finger. “Were you?”
“I wouldn’t be calling at ten in the morning if I wasn’t.”
“I was serious.”
“Are you ever going to ask her?” Sofia whisper-shouts in the background.
Scratchy muffled sounds come through from Marco’s end, like he’s covering the speaker. I hear him say, “Close the door.” Marco returns to the line. “Sorry.”
“He wants you to come over tonight,” Sofia yells louder this time. “For dinner.” She squeals, and a door slams.
“I guess you heard all that,” he says sheepishly. “Any chance you want to come over later? I’ll make dinner.”
Dinner at his house … he’s asking me out. “You’re going to cook?”