Second Chance Boyfriend (Drew + Fable #2)(24)

He schools his expression, looking incredibly solemn and serious. “Fable. I’m sorry.” He lifts my hand and brushes a kiss across my knuckles.

His mouth on my skin leaves me weak-kneed and I’m not even standing. The playful way he’s acting doesn’t help matters either. I need to remember he’s drunk. He’s not in the right state of mind.

“Now, come inside with me. I won’t try anything, I promise.” He makes an X at the center of his chest with his index finger. “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you really a scout?”

“No.” He smiles. “But you can trust me.”

I know I can. I both want him to give me space so I can absorb everything that’s happened tonight and I also want him all over me. I’m confused.

This is what he does to me every time we’re together.

We get out of the truck and I follow him across the parking lot without protest. Let him guide me to his front door without a word, though I can feel his presence behind me. I inhale sharply when he sets his hand low on my back to steer me in the right direction.

He doesn’t remove his hand either until we get to the front door. Like he needs that connection.

I need it too.

When he unlocks the door, he indicates for me to walk in first and I enter his quiet, dark apartment. He flicks on a light, revealing a room devoid of anything beyond a couch, a matching chair and a flat-screen TV. There are no pictures, no knickknacks, no mess. Nothing beyond the basic essentials.

The room lacks warmth. Like no one real lives here. It reminds me of the Drew I first met. That version felt nothing, acted like nothing affected him. He’d been an emotionless shell of a human being.

I like to think I changed him in a matter of days. I taught him to feel. To open up and deal with his emotions, his wants and his needs. That my influence taught him it might be okay to be human again.

Turning to face him, I study his expression. His eyes are bleary, his hair is mussed and his cheeks are pale. He looks tired and a little loopy. Yet again, I want to touch him. Touch his bristly cheek, trace his expressive mouth with my finger…

“Do you want to talk?”

His question startles me. He doesn’t look like he wants to talk. More like he probably wants to collapse in bed. “Do you?”

“There are things I should say to you, yeah. But I’m drunk and I’ll probably mess it up somehow.” His voice is soft and he runs his palm across his cheek, doing the very thing I wanted to do only moments before.

My hands literally itch to reach out and touch him.

“Maybe we should sleep on it first.” I can’t face everything yet. My mind is working on overtime and I need to quiet it. Plus, I’m scared at what he might say. What if I don’t want to hear his explanations? What if he’s only being kind tonight and wants to let me down gently?

But then I remember his jealousy over Colin. The way he looked at me. How he kissed me, how his arms felt around me.

Drew still wants me. I know it. I still want him. Being with him tonight would most likely be a mistake. Am I strong enough to resist him?

Is he strong enough to resist me? The pull between us is there, like an invisible thread that draws us closer and closer when we’re in the same room together.

“Can I sleep on your couch?” I wave my hand in the couch’s direction. It’s big and looks comfortable enough.

He shakes his head with a grimace. “No way. I’ll take the couch. You can have my bed.”

Oh, God. I can’t take his bed. It’ll smell like him. My imagination will run wild the moment I touch the mattress, the second my head hits his pillow. It’s been too long since we’ve been together and having him so close, I want to launch myself at him and never, ever let go.

“I’d rather have the couch.” My voice is shaky and I breathe deep, trying to control my emotions, but I’m ragged. Completely undone. A tear sneaks down my cheek and I sniff. I hate crying. I rarely do it.

“Fable.” His deep voice is so low, it rumbles through me and I bend my head. I don’t want him to see my useless tears. “Look at me.”

I shake my head. “No.”

He slips his fingers beneath my chin and tilts my face up so I have no choice but to look at him. His gaze is dark as he wipes away a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “You’re crying.”

I blink hard. “No, I’m not.”

He strokes his thumb across my chin, his nail grazing the edge of my lower lip. “I hate that I’ve made you cry.”

I close my eyes, the still-falling tears getting tangled up in my eyelashes. “I’m just… I don’t know how to handle this anymore. You. Us.”

“I’m sorry.” He steps closer. I can feel his body heat burning into me. And then his mouth is at my forehead, his lips brushing my skin in a tentative kiss. “So sorry.” Another kiss at my temple. “I didn’t know what to say to you after I left. I was ashamed of everything that happened, everything you witnessed. You deserve better.” He kisses the tip of my nose.

Without thought I sling my arms around him, anchoring myself. He’s big and warm and solid, and my heart eases at having him so close again. “I deserve you,” I whisper. “When will you realize that?”

We’re quiet for long, agonizing minutes. My forehead is pressed against his chin, my arms loose around his waist. He slips his arm around me so his hand settles at my hip. His other hand is in my hair, smoothing it back, tangling his fingers in the long strands, and I sigh at his gentle touch.