An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(57)

“I’m scared to cross a line,” I admit.

“Lines are drawn for protection. And this?” He flicks a finger between us. “Nothing is going to hurt you here. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Fun. Maybe for most people it would be fun, but I’m not most people, and I don’t know how to tell him about Jessica, or about my health complications, without confessing the whole truth and scaring him away for good.

I just got him back.

Desperate for a new angle to latch onto, I tell him, “I don't want to be your one-night stand, Cal. That’s not me.”

“I wasn’t planning on limiting it to one night.”

My throat closes up. “You mean, you want…a relationship?”

“No,” he says simply.

I blink up at him, processing his response.

He wants to be friends with benefits.

A fuck buddy.

That’s not me, either. I want all or nothing, and if I can’t have it all, I’ll have to settle for nothing. I’m vaguely aware of Cricket slinking toward me to sniff my boots, so I reach down to pet her, half distracted by the man in front of me. As I’m fumbling for a response to Cal’s implication that he wants to turn our budding friendship into a noncommittal sexual fling, I accidentally miss Cricket’s head and poke her in the eye with my finger.

She swats at me, slashing a claw across my knuckles, then scampers back to her safe haven under the sofa.

I jolt upright and glance down at the blood seeping from the scratch. It’s not bad, but it’s bad enough to bleed, and apparently, I’m prone to hand injuries whenever I’m around Cal.

“Shit, she get you?” Cal moves forward in two big strides, grabbing my hand to survey the damage. “Damn. Sorry, she’s still cagey.”

“It was my fault,” I confess, hissing through my teeth when it starts to sting. “I know better. I’ve worked with animals for years. God, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for everything. Let me see.” He pulls my knuckles to his face, grazing a thumb over them in time with his eyes. “Doesn’t look bad. I’ve got some Band-Aids in the kitchen.”

Cal doesn’t let go of my hand as we journey into the adjoining kitchen, then surprises me by cinching my waist and lifting me up to the countertop. He plants me there, reaching over my head to grab a plastic tub of first aid supplies out of the upper cabinet.

I lean to the side to switch on the faucet next to me, sluicing the wound with warm water and soap. It burns, and I know I’ll have to keep an eye on it for infection—cat injuries can turn serious quickly. After patting the area with a dry towel, I lift back up, with Cal between my knees, while he peels apart a bandage. “I know you said not to apologize, but I feel bad,” I admit, watching his long fingers tinker with the delicate wrapping.

“You do always manage to keep things interesting,” he says, eyes lowered.

“I bet you’re wishing you didn’t cancel plans with Jolene, huh?”

He looks up. “That’s not what I said.”

“But you’re thinking it?”

“No. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Tending to my self-induced cat wound and not getting laid,” I muster through a half laugh, half sulk. Self-deprecation bleeds through my words. “Sounds like a party.”

“If I wanted to get laid, Lucy, it wouldn’t be difficult. I’m with you because I want to be, whether you’re in my bed or not.”

My cheeks redden as he takes my hand back and places the bandage over the scratch. I chew my lip. “It’s not that I don’t want to be.”

His palm is warm and big as it cradles mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles again, lingering. “I know. That’s why this is confusing the fuck out of me.”

Guilt seizes me. The last thing I want is to confuse him, or lead him on, but I don’t know how to explain that this is for his own good without telling him why. I should tell him why. God knows he’ll find out eventually, whether with words or with something even worse—but the confession catches fire on my tongue and turns to ash.

Cal inches closer between my thighs, his torso flush with my pelvis, my hand still tucked inside his. His presence is dominating, but his touch is gentle. Soothing. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I say softly, soot in my throat.

He glances at me with only his eyes. “So tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.” Moving even closer, his hand trails from mine and glides up the length of my arm until he’s palming my neck. “Tell me why your body is begging for me, but this mouth is telling me no.” His thumb moves over to my mouth, dragging down my bottom lip.

My breath hitches, a gasp expelling. Tingles spark down low, dampening my panties as my legs tighten around his middle. When our foreheads press together and I think he’s going to kiss me, I give him my partial truth. “I’m a virgin.” I watch his expression falter, his half-lidded eyes blinking as realization dawns. I swallow, embarrassed. “I’ve never even kissed…except you. Only that night at the carnival. On the Ferris wheel,” I tell him. “That’s it.”

A long, treacherous beat passes.

His hold on my neck strengthens, his jaw clenched and taut. Body stiffening, he presses closer, until I feel more than muscle going rigid.