Page 103 of What We Brave
Reid glances at me again. I shake my head.Don't. Too fucking fast.
"Sleeping arrangements," he admits. "But Blake's right. Way too early for that conversation."
Laine's face goes red. Bright red. The kind of red that spreads from her cheeks down her neck and probably keeps going. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Okay. Yeah. Not yet." She crosses her arms. Uncrosses them.Shoves her hands in her coat pockets. Pulls them out again. "Good call."
"See? I can do slow."
"That wasn't slow. That was you almost sprinting and then tripping at the last second."
"Still counts."
She's flustered. Embarrassed. Shivering in the damp cold, her nose going pink, her breath coming out in little white puffs.
I want to hold her.
The thought hits me square in the chest. Not sexual. Not complicated. Just—I want to pull her against me and wrap my arms around her and feel her breathe. Feel her warmth seeping through my flannel. Know she's real and here and not walking away.
But I can't just grab her. Can I?
After everything I did, she might flinch. She might step back. She might give me that guarded look she wore for months—the one that saidI don't trust youandplease don't hurt meat the same time.
I'd deserve it. Every bit of it.
My feet move before my brain catches up. One step toward her.
Then I stop.
What if she doesn't want you to touch her?
What if she pulls away?
What if you've ruined this permanently and the version of you she thinks about is gone, buried under every shitty thing you said, every wall you threw up, every time you chose cruelty because it was easier than letting her in?
My hands hang at my sides, useless. Twitching with the need to reach for her.
She's watching me. Head tilted. Waiting to see what I'll do.
The silence stretches. My jaw aches from clenching it.
Just do it, you fucking coward. The worst she can do is say no.
The worst she can do is confirm you've destroyed any chance of?—
"Blake." Laine's voice cuts through the spiral. Soft. "You can touch me. If you want."
Oh.
I close the distance in two steps. My hands find her shoulders—just her shoulders, careful, giving her every chance to change her mind?—
She steps into me before I can second-guess myself.
Her face presses against my chest. Her fingers curl into the flannel at my sides. She's shaking—from the cold or nerves, I can't tell. Maybe both.
I wrap my arms around her. Loose at first. Testing. Waiting for her to tense up, pull back, realize this was a mistake.
