Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(41)
Ah. Fuck it.
Sierra: On my way.
No turning back now. “Change of plans, Clare. I’m not going home.”
Braden flops down on the bed beside me with a satisfied sigh, wearing a wicked grin that has me questioning my sanity. Our eyes meet, his somehow glowing in the darkness of his bedroom and a puddle of warmth settles in my belly.
The overhanging feeling of confusion that blanketed my shoulders when I arrived earlier—watching Braden eye met up with a less guarded, more attentive expression compared to the last time we were together—has been lifted, replaced with one of satisfaction that I don’t dare try to mess with. There are questions that I want to ask and things that I want to say. But they can wait for a time where my heart isn’t racing and the delicious throb between my legs has disappeared.
“Shit, Sierra. I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.” He’s nearly beaming, his expression so calm and collected, so at peace, while I struggle to hide the surprise from mine. Sometimes it’s impossible to understand this man. He seems to sort through and understand his emotions like it’s the easiest concept in the world.
I flip on my side and prop myself up on my elbow, eyeing the dimple in Braden’s left cheek. “How do you do that?”
He turns his face, an eyebrow cocked as he asks, “Do what?”
I lick my lips to combat how dry they are and don’t bother hiding my smile when he watches the movement without blinking. “Act so calm. You don’t try to keep how you feel to yourself. I don’t know how to do that.”
There’s a small part of me that questions whether or not entertaining small talk in bed with this attractive, rough-around-the-edges man will only get me in trouble down the road, but the bigger part of me says to go with it. So I do.
He seems to gnaw on my confession, two bushy, chestnut-brown eyebrows knitting together in thought. The scar that runs through his left brow has to be pretty old as it’s nothing more than a thin white line now. Before I know it I’m tracing the scarred flesh with my finger, feeling the smooth skin surrounded by rough short hairs and wondering how he got it. Did he get in a fight when he was younger? Or was he a rowdy little boy who smacked his head on anything and everything? If he was, I hope he’s at least apologized to his mom.
My finger stills its movements when he, whether consciously or subconsciously, leans into my touch, pressing his cheek into my palm and hums a deep, raspy sound of satisfaction that I store away for later.
After a few quiet seconds he speaks, his voice quiet and raspy, eyes cautious, observing. “There are certain things that I do keep to myself. Tons of things, actually.”
I don’t bother hiding my curiosity. He can see it in my open expression. I’m sure that's why he chuckles, briefly shaking his head.
My elbow gives out and I rest my shoulder on the bed, stretching out my legs with a yawn. The long hairs on his calf rub the top of my foot as I move it back and forth along the cold sheet. “Could have fooled me.”
I don’t miss the way he winces after I’ve spoken, but before I have the chance to ask him about it, he fumbles over two otherwise simple words. “I’m sorry.” A warm palm grips the meaty part of my thigh, a few inches above my knee, and hooks it over his hip. “For what happened last time. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think you would answer my text earlier, let alone actually come.”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah, you were a complete asshole. I almost told you to go to hell. Maybe I should have.”
I mean, I wasn’t going to text him that, but there’s no harm in making him sweat. Just because I couldn’t help wanting to scratch an itch that only Braden seems to be able to soothe recently doesn’t necessarily mean that all is forgiven and forgotten. How he treated me the last time we were together felt like I was receiving a punishment for a crime that I didn’t commit. It was completely unfair. I wasn’t sure whether to be offended, hurt, or confused as I stood in the shower, under the scalding water, praying that when I got out that morning, Braden was long gone, never to be seen again.
There’s no doubt in my mind that if Sophie would have been the one that I asked to drop me off at Braden’s after everything I’ve told her, that I would have a sore head right now from her smacking it around, trying to shake some sense into me. And there’s a part of me that would have let her shake and shake and shake until the last thing that I wanted was to be even in the same vicinity as this jerk. But there’s also that stupid, stupid part of me that didn’t even register the past when it made it’s decision, encouraging me to just go for it and live. To say fuck what happened and take what I want. And again, I listened to that stupid, naive part of me. Like I have been since the moment I met Braden.
But now here I am. Finally receiving an apology from a guy that I’m pretty sure has only allowed himself to apologize a handful of times in his entire life.
A muscle ticks in his cheek, under the thick skin of my fingertips. My thumb traces the sharp lines of his jaw from the tip of his earlobe to the bottom of his chin. The air is thick as I draw it into my lungs and say, “I’m guessing your explanation for the other night falls in the category of things that you do keep to yourself, huh?”
He turns his face into my palm and kisses the warm skin once, twice, and a third time before letting out a shaky breath. His chocolate-eyes are warm yet guarded as he watches me with an obvious curiosity, like he’s trying desperately to dissect my thoughts, and burn with something unforgiving and almost possessive.