Page 15 of Best Kind of Trouble
They’re too big, but she doesn’t complain. I get the sense this woman doesn’t complain about anything, other than me.
“How’s the fit?”
“Terrible,” she says. “Now, what do I do?”
“Turn around.”
Her eyes meet mine, and fear flickers in her gaze for half a second. “You want me to put my back to you?”
She might as well have gripped my throat and squeezed.
“Did someone hurt you?” I ask, my voice harsh. Not because I’m pissed at her, but because I’m filled with the need to destroy whoever did.
“A lot of people have hurt me,” she says, her voice soft but crisp, and the roiling feelings inside me dial up from ten to an impossible thirteen.
“I mean, did someone…take advantage of you?”
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking.”
“But somethingdidhappen.” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a growl, but I don’t like the thought. Don’t like it one bit.
“It was in high school,” she says, rubbing her arms as if she’s suddenly chilled. “It’s no big deal.”
“Oh, it’s a big fucking deal.”
She tips her head, looking at me with surprise. “It’s okay, Liam. It happened, like, twelve years ago. Maybe longer.”
I press my lips together in displeasure. “I talked to this guy at the Christmas party who was still pissed off because a chick he knew in high school ruined his senior-year science project.Twelve years ago.I’m guessing whatever happened to you is worse than that. You’re allowed to have feelings about it.”
She nods. “Okay, thank you. I don’t want to talk about it, though.”
Suddenly, it’s all I want to talk about. I want to know what this person did to her, and also where they live. It’s not a logical thought, but there it is.
I pluck the elastic band on my wrist again.
“We won’t,” I say after a long moment. “But, just so you know, I wasn’t going to do anything while your back was turned. That’s not my style. The heavy bag is behind you. That’s where we should start.”
She nods, but before she can turn around, I stride forward to stand beside her. I’m a hell of a lot taller and broader than her, and I don’t want her to feel physically intimidated. Fear is only something I covet from my enemies.
Her hair is still down around her shoulders, her waist. Fucking everywhere. I deny myself the urge to “accidentally” brush my hand against it. While I’d like to know what it feels like, it wouldn’t be a very intelligent research project.
“Do you have something to tie your hair back with?” I ask.
“No. My scrunchie fell out.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got something you can use.” I pull the hair band off my wrist and hand it to her.
“But…” A startled expression fills her eyes. “Oh.No, thank you. I don’t want to use some other woman’s?—”
Laughter spurts from me. “Oh shit. You think I stole this off some woman after sleeping with her? Now I’m really wondering what Hannah’s told you, but no. It’s mine. Snapping it against my wrist helps me shift my focus when I need to. Feels better than a rubber band.”
“Oh. Thank you, then,” she says, sounding embarrassed.
I hand the band over, our fingers brushing, and I watch with fascination as she picks up all of that hair and easily twists it into a loose bun at the base of her neck.
My mouth goes dry, and I force myself to look away, wishing like hell I still had the band on my wrist so I could snap it.
I clear my throat, then say, “Are you right-handed?” She nods tightly. “Left foot in front of the right, then bend your knees.”
