Until You (The Redemption, #1)(68)

Or rather, I’ll let her go so long as I can do other things to her that involve a bed, a wall, the kitchen counter . . . I mean, the possibilities are endless.

“So . . . are you going to talk to me, or are you going to be mad at me and make me keep guessing what our first official fight is going to be about?”

She lowers her eyes again and focuses on where her fingers play idly with the hole on my favorite, old, dark blue T-shirt.

“I can’t keep doing this to you, Crew,” she says softly.

No, no, no. “Doing what?”

“Using you.”

I bark out a laugh. Here I thought she was ending things, and this is the problem? That she’s using me?

Then let me be used. Especially when it’s by her.

But I don’t exactly think she’ll appreciate me saying that. “Hey,” I say in an attempt to get her to look at me. When she doesn’t, I hook my fingers through the belt loops on the sides of her jeans and tug. “Is that what this is? You using me?”

“Mm-hm.”

My smile is brighter than the fucking sun as I bite back more laughter. “You know what? You’re absolutely right. How dare you? I mean it’s more than clear that I’m getting absolutely nothing out of whatever this is here. No friendship.” I kiss the side of her neck. “No pleasure.” I kiss her cheek. “No release.” This time I brush my lips to hers and fight the urge to take the kiss even deeper. “No anything.”

She laughs against my lips. “That’s not what I—” She sighs. “Never mind.”

“Never mind? Oh come on. We can do so much better than that. You can’t end a fight on a never mind.” I shake her hips. “Where is the throwing shit and yelling at each other until you can’t remember what you’re yelling at each other for? I mean . . . we’re clearly lacking in our fighting skills.”

“You don’t fight fair,” she says, but a smile creeps onto her lips.

“Ha. I don’t like to fight at all. So are you going to tell me what it is you’re trying to say, or do I need to go get my shoes off the stairs for you to throw at my head?”

I don’t get the laugh I’m working for. Instead, she continues to play nervously with the hole in my shirt when all I want her to do is meet my eyes. But it hits me that maybe she’s not used to fighting how I fight—which is not fighting at all. Maybe she’s used to cruel words, maybe even indiscriminate fists. Jesus.

The thought staggers me and makes me question if I need to double down on my humor or back off altogether.

But before I can figure it out, Tenny clears her throat and speaks. “I . . . there can’t be more than this. I can’t give you more than this.”

“I need more than that,” I say softly as I lower myself to my knees on the step in front of the top one she’s sitting on. “Talk to me.”

“You’re leaving at the end of summer. I’m . . . staying here. Damaged. Introverted. And there can’t be more than that.”

“Huh.”

“What does that sound mean?”

“It means you’re supposing I want there to be more. Pretty bold of you if you ask me.”

Tenny’s eyes flash up to be met with my grin.

“I’m serious,” she says.

“Okay. Be serious. But what if I say this is a quid pro quo?”

“You lost me.”

“What if I’m using you too, Tenny?”

She sputters out the words, “For what?”

“Ouch.” I hiss. “Is the sex that bad you have to ask?” I laugh and press a kiss to her lips with a resounding smacking sound.

“No,” she says in frustration. “That’s not what I—”

“What if this—you—what if I’m using you to help me forget?”

“Forget what?”

“The things I can’t seem to do right at home. The things I can’t seem to overcome in here.” I point to my head. “To realize Britt can’t define me. To simply know what it is to feel alive again.” I hold her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “You have my permission to use me, Tennyson, because I assure you, I’m no worse for the wear because of it. In fact, I think I’m doing pretty damn good in spite of it. So, if you’re trying to break up with me, you’re going to have to try a little harder.”

“You’re exasperating.”

“Thank you. I try hard to be.” This time when I kiss her, I give in to the temptation and delve my tongue between her lips. Maybe to reassure her we’re good. Maybe more so to reassure me.

“We have to think about the girls,” she starts the minute the kiss ends. “The summer will be over before we know it, and . . . it’s probably better if I go back to the cottage. So they don’t get too attached.”

And there she goes winning my heart by putting my girls front and center again. “Tenny—”

“I mean, the last thing I want is for this to get messy for them.”

I lean back and meet her troubled gaze. There is something more here, but I don’t know what it is, and she isn’t telling me.

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“The girls saw us kiss.”