Hostile(27)

“So then, why are you telling me this?” He looks wary, and he should.

“Because no matter how good they are . . .” I meet his eyes with intensity. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’m fucked, beyond fucked, in the head. I don’t fully trust them, even though they’ve only done good things for me. Even though they don’t only say they love me, they show it.”

He studies me, his long lashes fluttering slightly and gaining my attention. “But you care about them.”

It’s not a question. “I do. I really do, but there’s a part of me that . . .”

Shit. How do I explain the fucked-upness that is me?

“Won’t let them love you,” he supplies, and again, it’s not a question.

“I push them away. I keep them at a distance because I just can’t do it. And they haven’t done a damn thing wrong. Not ever. Even Bree and Fletch . . .” My gut twists because I know it’s true.

He surprises me, though, instead of saying anything or trying to convince me I’m not fucked up, he pulls my body into his, wrapping his big-ass arms around me in a bear hug I couldn’t get out of if I tried.

But I don’t try. I just bury my face in his chest against the hard muscle, and I let him hold me—which is also very fucking new for me.

“I think you just do things your own way, Rhett.” His voice rumbles through his chest, and somehow that comforts me.

“I don’t know. I just know I’m fucked up,” I say, still buried in his massive chest.

I swear I can feel him smiling, even though I can’t see him.

I pull back slightly, and he lets his arms drop, but neither of us puts any space between us. “Anyway, I think I’ll always be figuring things out. I don’t know if I’ll ever really understand myself.”

He looks concerned, then shrugs. “Okay. As long as I can be there along the way.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

My question should probably offend him or hell, even piss him off. But no, the fucker only smiles brighter. “Why wouldn’t I want to? I like you. I like being ‘friends who sometimes kiss.’ And I really like being ‘friends who sometimes make each other come.’”

I raise an eyebrow at him, and his grin brightens even fucking more. “You really do need labels, don’t you?”

He chuckles, maneuvering my body so we’re side by side, one arm around me and both of us leaning back against the couch. “Not for sexuality, but for what we are right now? Yeah. And I like that label.”

I roll my eyes, but dammit—I’m smiling too. “Fine.”

“So, your parents are good then?”

I nod quickly because yeah, Blair and Rhys are the dream. They care. They love. They let us all be who we are without trying to control us. “Yeah. And I’m a piece of shit because even though they are, I’m betraying Rhys in the worst possible way.”

I feel his him stiffen next to me. “Because of some hand stuff?”

Again, I roll my eyes, but also again, I’m smiling as I shake my head. “No. Not because of anything we’ve done. Because of me.” My heart clenches tightly in my chest, painfully hard, because I know Rhys won’t give a damn if I’m with a guy or a girl or anyone. But what I’m doing to him now is not good. It’s low.

“Then what? Because if they’re as cool as you say, I doubt there’s anything you can do they won’t be okay with.” He turns toward me, his eyes wide. “Unless you’re hooked on drugs or something.”

“Jesus, fuck. You’re ridiculous, you know that?” His eyes are still wide. “Rhys is a tattoo artist. One of the best. He’s amazing.”

“O-kay . . . ?” He clearly doesn’t understand yet, but he’s trying to.

I huff, unable to believe I’m going to say any of this out loud. “He offered me an apprenticeship at his shop. I mean, artists all over the world would kill to learn from him, but he’s handing it to me.”

He watches me in anticipation.

“But I don’t want it.”

His brows furrow. “You don’t want to be a tattoo artist? I’m sure he’ll be okay with that.”

“No.” I stand because sitting still is making me twitchy. “I want to. I’ve wanted that since I met Rhys.”

“Okay. So, what’s the problem then?”

I gesture around the apartment. “This place. It belongs to my new boss.” He cocks his head to the side, but instead of him guessing, I just go on. “Not Rhys. Kole. He owns Hostile Ink, a shop a few blocks from here. I’m starting there right after spring break.”

He’s caught up now, standing and placing his big hands on my shoulders. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So, see? Piece of shit. I should just work for him, but I can’t.”

“I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“I do. I don’t want to have everything handed to me. I want to work for it, and Rhys . . .” I huff, pushing away from Grayson again, suffocating with the truth bubbling up. “He’s talented, but his place, it’s so well-known now, it’s huge, and I’d feel . . .”

Grayson grins. “Like a sellout?”

I nod. “Yes. Exactly.” I can’t believe he understands.