Page 98 of Cinder
The way he says my name this time is low and wrecked, and I turn back slowly.
“You think I’m sleeping on this couch because I don’twantyou?” he asks roughly, and my breath catches.
His hand loosens slightly around my wrist, thumb dragging once against my pulse point as though he’s only just realizing he grabbed me at all.
“I’m on this couch because if I got into that bed with you tonight,” he says, eyes dropping briefly to my mouth, “I wasn’t gonna keep pretending this is nothing.”
The words hit me like a physical thing, and for a second, neither of us moves. His hand is still around my wrist, warm and rough and grounding, and I’m certain he can feel my pulse beating hard beneath his thumb.
“Evan…”
He exhales sharply through his nose and lets go of my wrist, then he rests back against the couch again, dragging a hand through his damp hair.
“This is exactly why I didn’t wake you,” he mutters. “Because I’m tired and pissed off and coming off a call like that, and now you’re standing here looking at me like…”
“Like what?”
His eyes snap to mine. “Like you care.”
The words come out harsh, edged with something raw enough to make me ache.
I stare at him calmly. “That’s because I do care.”
“Yeah, well.” He laughs once under his breath restlessly, keyed up in a way that feels dangerously close to unraveling. “That’s becoming a fucking problem for me, Pen. Because if I do something about that, and you wake up tomorrow regretting it, I’m fucked.”
Something in me softens because I realize he’s not angryatme. I haven’t done anything to him. He’s angry at himself. At how badly he wants this.
“You make it sound like I’m asking for something from you,” I say quietly.
“Aren’t you?”
The question hangs between us, and I stare down at him. And maybe that’s the thing that finally strips the last layer of safety away, because I can hear the fear underneath it. The expectation that if this ends badly, or if he lets this happen, something in his life is going to crack open again.
I shake my head and sit back down beside him.
“I’m not asking you for anything, I just… didn’t want you sitting out here alone thinking you had to carry all of this by yourself.”
His expression shifts almost imperceptibly, then stills completely when I turn to face him.
“You deserve someone who looks after you for once, too,” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “You should probably stop talking.”
“Why?”
“Because you keep saying things that make me wanna do something stupid.”
I swallow. “Like?”
He turns his head slowly to face mine, and his gaze drops to my mouth again. “You really need me to say it?”
The tension coils tighter, enough that my instinct to pull back doesn’t win this time. His hand flexes once against his thigh like he’s stopping himself from reaching for me, and we look at each other for another beat.
But if this man thinks I’m going to let this go now, he’s wrong. So before I can stop myself, I close the distance to rest my hand against his shoulder, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his T-shirt.
“Pen,” he says in a low, warning tone.
I don’t pull away. “Tell me to stop.”
