Iris (The Wild Side)(20)

“She walked up angry. You know, because she watched us having sex. She came up and told me about it. I guess she did watch the entire thing, and felt the need to tell me I was nasty, trashy, and tacky for going down on you after we f*cked, in someone else’s house, no less.” She shrugged. “I told her I wouldn’t even know how to tell you no, that you and I have done everything together that you wanted, that I’d take your dick every way I could have it, because it belongs to me now.”
I couldn’t hold back a strangled choke of a laugh, and also, a glow of pleasure that seemed to touch on every part of my body, inside and out.
“Oh, yeah, and I told her that anything we did, anywhere we did it, was less nasty, trashy, and tacky than getting deep throated in your husband’s house by another man.”
“Holy shit,” I mouthed.
“Oh, and then I called her a washed-up slut. I think that last bit was what set her off.”
“No kidding,” I said wryly. That would do it.
It wasn’t until I tried to walk that I realized my feet had been sliced up by the broken glass.
The cuts were superficial, but you wouldn’t know it by the way Iris freaked out at the sight of my blood.
She sat me down on the concrete at the side of the pool and insisted on tending to each cut herself. She fretted over my wounds like they were her own, only, I didn’t think she’d be this concerned for herself.
Her doting attention was flattering, and that tender little spot in my chest just kept getting bigger.









CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Can I see your ID again?” I asked her abruptly on the drive home, Turner’s observations getting to me.
She seemed unfazed. “I don’t have my license on me. Is that a problem?”
“You brought a purse,” I pointed out.
“It’s not in there. Next time I visit, I’ll show it to you, if it’s that important.”
That sort of defeated my purpose and did nothing to allay my fears.
“You are really twenty-four, right?” I asked, shooting her a long probing glance as I stopped at a red light.
She gave me a bland smile. “I said so, didn’t I?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, of course. You saw my ID. It looked legit, right?”
I sighed. Even her wording was incriminating, and I didn’t think that was an accident. “It did. But it needs to do more than look legit.”
“Quit stressing yourself out, baby. Some things you just need to trust me on.”
That right there riled me faster than just about anything else could.
“Trust you? How about you start telling me the truth about things, start giving me the whole story, and then we can talk about trust.”
“I trust you,” she said quietly. “Always have. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.”
“I know you’ve lied to me. My gut tells me that you lie to me more than you tell me the truth. What am I supposed to do with that? How does that add up to any kind of trust? Go ahead, try to tell me you haven’t lied to me.”
“Yes, I’ve lied. I’m a liar.” Her tone was so calm and matter of fact that it had my fists clenching on the steering wheel. “I grew up surrounded by lies, they were something I had to, have to navigate to survive. That doesn’t mean you and I aren’t real. It doesn’t make my I love you any less true.”
I’d been trying hard not to bring that up, but since she had . . . “Bullshit. I can’t believe you said that. You barely know me, certainly not enough to be sure you love me.”
“I do know you, Dair. I know you’re kind. I know you’re good. I know you’re stubborn and more loving, more nurturing than even you realize. I know you, Dair, in every way that counts. And I am sure of you, and how I feel. I think you’re confusing things. It’s you that’s not sure.”
I swallowed hard, flushing at the things that wanted to come out of my mouth. I’d never been good with these kinds of words. “I know you’re giving. I know you’re kind. I know you’re smart, and beautiful, and too good to be true.”
And, of course, that last bit was the whole problem.
“I know nothing about your past,” I added.
“We aren’t defined by our pasts,” she shot back. “We are who we are. You don’t have to know where I grew up, what year I was born, to know the woman in front of you.”
We were at the house, and I pulled into the garage, turning off the car.
We said not a word to each other as we went inside, then up to my room.
We got ready for bed in silence.
We were lying down on our sides, me wrapped around her from behind, before she broke it.
“I love you,” she said, voice quiet and firm.
“You can’t possibly know that yet,” I chastised, though every time she said those words it felt like balm on my bruised heart.
“Fine. I won’t say it again, if it bothers you that much.”
My gut clenched at the finality in her voice, but I knew it was for the best.
“I don’t have good judgement when it comes to you,” I said into the darkness, breaking another long silence that had overtaken us.
She shifted, turning until her face was buried in my chest.
I burrowed my face into her hair, breathing in her scent.
She pulled my head down until she could speak into my ear. “Maybe good judgement is overrated. Maybe it’s time for you to be bad.”