Redeemed (Dirty Air #4)(77)
She pinches my side. “Don’t even try it.”
I laugh. “Why bother making a move when I know I’ll get what I want?”
That statement earns me a harder pinch right between two of my ribs.
“You’re awfully cocky.”
“Emphasis on the cock.”
She lets out an obnoxious laugh that leaves her wheezing. “Please stop. My heart can’t handle any more of this.”
The movie starts, interrupting us with the intro to Pretty in Pink. Chloe cuddles up to my side and rests her head against my chest.
I wrap my arm around her.
Yeah, I could definitely get used to this, chick flicks and all.
Chloe has officially infiltrated my home. Having her around is like living with constant temptation in the form of short shorts and hints of cleavage. She scatters her items around the house, and while it should frustrate me, it only makes me smile like an idiot when I find them. And I mean it. Her shit is everywhere, but it surprisingly keeps me grounded in a good way. The kind of way I want to hold on to and relive day after day.
Chloe is working her way so deep into my heart that I’m struggling to remember how life was without having her around. But the best part of having her around is I have yet to fall into my dark place again. For the first time in a long time, I feel happy. Truly, unequivocally happy. I look forward to waking up earlier than her and cooking breakfast before she runs off to work.
In the past few months I’ve known her, Chloe Carter has banished the monsters making my days dark, and replaced them with everything that makes her days special.
It’s not enough to have her here living under my roof. I want to cut a piece of my heart out and tuck Chloe inside, protecting her from the world.
She’s like a rainbow after the storm, and I’ll be damned if she fades away once the sun breaks through the clouds.
34
Chloe
“I’ve been thinking about something…” I pass Santiago the wrench he asked for. Did I mention I love his car garage yet? No?
It would make grown men weep, it’s that beautiful. Hell, I’d consider shedding a tear or two for the Bumblebee-lookalike Camaro in the corner.
He rolls half his body out from underneath his latest fix-up. “That’s never a good idea.”
I push my foot against his rolling device, attempting to shove him back under the car.
He laughs at my effort. “I was joking. What have you been thinking about?”
“Well, you going back to racing for one thing.”
His penetrative gaze stays locked on mine. “What about it?”
“When are you planning on scheduling your test run?”
He rolls back underneath the car without answering me. The sounds of tools being used fills the silence, and a few bolts drop onto the cement floor.
“I scheduled it for next week.”
“What?” I crouch down, trying to see his eyes. “You’ve been holding out on me!”
“I booked it for a day you’re working.”
“Why would you do that?” A throb I’m unaccustomed to blooms inside of my chest. I thought he wanted me to go with him. Did he change his mind?
“It’s not because of you.” He rolls back out from underneath the car. With more agility than I expect from him, he stands up.
“Do you not want me to go anymore?” Somehow I hide the hurt in my voice.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
Right. A classic brush-off. For some reason, it feels a lot different being on the receiving end.
“Then what?”
“I didn’t want to disappoint you. I was afraid I’d chicken out and doing so would be a hell of a lot easier without you there.”
“Because I wouldn’t hold you accountable.”
He shakes his head, stepping back into my personal bubble. “Because making you unhappy is the last thing I want.”
He reaches out for my cheek. The roughness of his palm brushes against my skin, and everything inside of me aches for more. “I want to make you proud of me.”
“Of course I’m proud of you. What roommate wouldn’t be? You kicked my ass in Mario Kart earlier and completed a bunch of simulation laps.” I jokingly shove his shoulder, but it comes off forced. My eyes flutter shut as his thumb trails across my lips.
“Roommates, huh?”
“The bestest. Like the show Friends.”
“The one where they all get together? I couldn’t have picked a better choice myself.”
My eyes snap open. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You attempt with everything in you to resist us.” He runs a finger across my clavicle, eliciting a shiver from me.
“I try hard to show you that certain things are more important than sex.”
“That exists?”
This time I shove his shoulder harder. He budges an inch before standing his ground.
“You’re hilarious. Really.” Sarcasm weighs my words down. “And stop changing the subject.”
“Then stop avoiding the one that matters. I’m changing, and if you haven’t realized that, then you’re not looking hard enough.”
He’s right. It’s obvious that he is changing, little by little. Between his daily trainings in the simulation lab to his discussions on the phone with Noah, he really is attempting to get back out there. He even bought a second F1 simulator set so we could play Mario Kart together every day after I come home from work. Can I withhold what we both want when he is trying to be different?