One of Those Faces (41)

Goose bumps rose along my neck. I buried my face into his shoulder. He smelled like rain and fresh linen. “I was at home,” I lied again. How could I even begin to tell him everything that had happened last night? It wasn’t really me who had followed that girl like a lunatic. It was a momentary lapse in sanity. But everything with my family, that was me. It was branded into my every action and reaction.

He slid his hand behind my neck, the pressure drawing my chin up until our lips met. Chills rose over my whole body as he backed me against the wall beside the bed. I ran my fingers along his stubbled jaw and tousled his hair as his warm hands landed under my top and onto my stomach. My skin burned as he caressed the scar along my neck and grazed my chest with his fingers.

I remembered what Erin had said. Did he see me as a project? Every time he saw what was wrong underneath, did he find it irresistible? Did he want to fix me? Would he leave when he realized how broken I truly was?

Maybe he’s as screwed up as you.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Long after Iann had fallen asleep, I lay awake, my shoulder pressed up close against his bare back. It was still only late afternoon, the daylight slowly falling farther away from the window.

I lifted my hand and ran it gently along his skin until he stirred and looked over his shoulder at me. “What’s going on?” he asked, blinking through heavy lids and rolling over to face me.

“I need to get ready for work,” I said, smoothing his hair down from where it stuck up on one side. I was already neck deep in guilt. What was one more lie?

He stretched his arms over his head. “Okay, I’ll get out of here.” He yawned.

I kissed his neck. “No, you can stay here if you want. I won’t be gone too long.”

He lifted his head off the pillow and squinted at the clock on my nightstand. “I should probably get back. I have to get to the bar in a couple of hours, anyway.” He sat up and pulled his T-shirt back on. “Do you want me to give you a ride to the studio?”

I looked past him to my drafting table. “That’s okay, I’ll walk.” I also sat up and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. “What time will you get off tonight?”

“Around midnight,” he said, standing up beside the bed.

“Let’s plan on you coming over here after your shift?”

He smiled and walked over to my side of the bed before putting his jacket on. “Okay.”

That sadness was still in his eyes as he turned to open the front door. He hadn’t moved on yet. “Oh, I have something for you.” I leaned over the side of the bed, feeling for my jacket. I pulled it into my lap and reached past the mysterious lighter to the box in the pocket. “For your birthday,” I said, handing it to him.

He took the small blue box and lowered down beside me. He opened it and smiled. “Perfect.”

It wasn’t. But it was the best I could do.

He pulled out the bottle opener and looked at his initials etched into the leather handle. “This is amazing. Thank you.” He kissed me again. This time a little less sad. But it was still there. “Did you have this made?”

I nodded. “Yeah, there’s a shop around the corner that makes them.”

He hates it. Hell, he probably hates you now too.

“This is the nicest thing anyone’s gotten for me.” He was still smiling somehow.

He’s a good actor.

“I doubt that,” I said with a humorless laugh.

“No, I’m serious. No one’s ever given me something custom like this.” He tapped my knee and put the opener back into its box. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” He got up from the bed and walked to the door.

“Iann,” I called.

He turned around with one hand on the doorknob.

“I’m really sorry about last night.”

He nodded, his smile fading only a little. “I know.”

After he closed the door, I clutched the blanket around me and dashed to the bathroom. I stepped into the shower and turned the faucet to the hottest setting I could bear, scrubbing away the grime of the previous night at the club and on the train.

I shut off the faucet and perched on the edge of the tub, my back to the shower curtain. I stood up and wrapped a towel around myself before skidding on the tile with damp feet over to the clothing pile nearby.

After I got dressed, I hovered over my desk, staring down at the illustration. Even without Sam’s text in front of me, I could still remember the address.

What are you doing?

I carefully took the watercolor and slipped it into a plastic sheet protector.



I shuffled my feet as I waited in front of the door, fighting the feeling to bolt.

You promised.

The door to the brownstone opened. Sam winced when he saw me. He eyed the paper in my hand.

“Sorry I didn’t text first,” I said quickly. “I lost my phone last night. But I wanted to make sure Anna got this.” I handed the illustration over to him.

His expression softened when he saw the painting.

I’d asked him to send his favorite picture of Anna for reference. He’d sent a photo of Anna with Sarah, her arm wrapped around the girl’s tiny shoulders.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked, reaching into his back pocket.

I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s a gift.”