Page 30 of Made
She grins up at me, looking ever so cocky. “Does the same apply to your celibacy? Because Katy has been trying to persuade me to go on a double date with her, Josh, and one of his work buddies.”
I have a flash of pure rage at the idea of Ellie being on a date with any man, especially some douche-bucket, called...
Okay, so I don’t know his name, but I’m guessing it sucks. It’s probably Chad or Trevor, or something similarly ass-like.
I don’t let her see that I’m thinking or feeling any of that, though. I have no right to police Ellie’s love life, and if I’m not willing to give her what she needs, then how could I possibly object to her getting it elsewhere? “Of course it does. I’m aware that other people have sex,” I say.Though not you, Ellie, please God, not you.“Shall we go in?” I’m relieved to sound so much calmer than I feel.
The place is pretty crammed, but we find a quiet corner table. I order a mocktail that comes with a pink umbrella and all kinds of other paraphernalia, and Ellie gets a margarita. I can’t lie, it smells amazing. But it also smells like failure, and a loss of control, and going back to my dark place. Where my monsters still lie in wait. I sip my much-too sugary drink and grimace. “Wow. I didn’t know it was possible for my teeth to rot within seconds.”
She smirks. “It does have a fun umbrella and a paper flamingo, though. Looks good on you. It’s definitely restored some of your macho pride.”
She sips her own drink, and maybe that’s what makes her bold. Because she reaches out and strokes the scar on my knuckles. It’s faded and pale, and most people don’t even notice it.
“This wasn’t really from a football accident, was it?”
A flashback. Me smashing a face into a mirror. Glass shattering. Blood everywhere. It sends a shudder racing up my spine.
“No,” I say. I leave it at that, and thankfully so does she.
We both remain silent. We’re comfortable with silence, the two of us. It’s one of the things I like most about spendingtime with her. We do things, we go places, we have fun. We’ve done a shit-ton of work together on my business proposal. But sometimes, we just chill. Her place or mine. One of us will cook, we’ll maybe watch TV. Sometimes we both crash out and read together. It sounds so fucking boring, but it’s one of my favorite things in the world—her at one end of the couch, me at the other, heads buried in our books.
I want Ellie Madison in so many ways. She’s sexy and gorgeous, and she gives me so many hard-ons I’ve taken to wearing cycling shorts beneath my pants to hide the evidence. But that aspect of things is off-limits, and maybe that makes everything else we share that much more special. More precious.
“I have some scars,” she finally says, breaking the silence. I’m guessing from her tone that they’re not straightforward. Nobody falls off their bike as a kid and speaks about the scars like that.
“You want to talk about them?” I ask. I tread softly, not one to push when it’s unwanted.
She shrugs and stares off into the distance. Her eyes glaze a little, and she doesn’t meet my look. I guess this is difficult for her.
“I used to harm myself,” she says. Her voice a whisper, a confession almost drowned out by the music. That old song “Show Me Love” is playing.
“You did?” I speak even more softly now. I’m no stranger to self-harm, even if mine didn’t involve razors and sharp edges. It left the kind of scars that don’t show on the outside.
“Yes. I was having a, uh, difficult time when I was a teenager. I didn’t know how to cope with what was happening in my life, and I started cutting.” She scrubs at her eyes, like she’s angry for showing emotion. “The scars are still there. I don’t feel ashamed of them. They remind me of who I was, and what I came through.”
“And what you became,” I add. “That’s what matters. Our past helps shape who we are, but it doesn’t define us. The bad things we deal with and how we deal with them is how we figure out who we are, or who we want to be.”
She nods, and shakily smiles. It’s a fucking beautiful thing, her smile. I would pluck down the moon from the sky if she asked me to right now. I would do a lot of things for Ellie Madison. I wonder if she offered herself to me now, the way she did back in Marrakech, if I’d have the strength to say no.
“A wise woman once told me that warriors don’t escape fear. They conquer it.”
“Was it Cynthia?” I ask, lightening the mood.
Ellie laughs, full and free, throwing her head back, her smooth throat exposed and vulnerable. How would she react if I leaned forward and kissed that gorgeous soft skin? My dick is getting harder just thinking about it, so I stop.
“No, it was my mom actually. Well, not my actual mom, but the lady who adopted my little brother and sisters. They call her mom, not me. Even though both she and I think of her that way. She’s a woman not to be messed with. She’d eat Cynthia for breakfast.”
I shudder slightly.Reminder: never meet Ellie’s not-mom.
I don’t mean that actually. I’d love to meet her, and her younger siblings. I want to know every part of Ellie’s life—at least every part that I can allow myself to right now.
“Thank you for sharing that with me” I tell her, raising my glass to clink against hers. “And one day, I promise I’ll tell you how I got my scar.”
She nods. “I’ll hold you to that, Maddox.”
I sure fucking hope so, because one day there is nothing I’d love more than to share everything with her. My darkness. My secrets. My whole life.
Chapter 14
