Page 148 of Fighting Chance
He stretches his arm behind his head, the move lifting his black shirt, showing a sliver of his lower abdomen and the biceps covered in ink. “You dirty texting me?”
Snorting out a laugh, I whack his shoulder playfully. “You wish.”
“Every day.”
He knocks his knee against my leg, the movement sending a jolt through my body. “Are you going to tell me the confession?”
Quirking a brow I tease, “A bit impatient, are we?”
“With you, always.” He winks. “But I’d still wait a lifetime.”
Rolling my eyes I jab his chest. “I just gave you something far greater than a confession.”
“Is that so?” He holds out his hand. “Pass me my phone.”
I shake my head and chuckle as he pouts playfully. “Not while I’m here. You have to read it alone.”
His eyes glow at the wordread. “You’re making me want to ask you to leave just so I can find out.”
I throw my head back as a deep belly laugh escapes me. I go to move but he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me down to the floor with him, the sudden movement startling me, making a shrill squeak escape. “I saidwant, not that I was going to do it. I might have had a momentary lapse in judgment earlier tonight but that will never happen again.”
He holds me against him, his tattooed arms keeping me captive, and I find that I don’t want to leave.
Running my fingers along one of his designs, my smile fades and Kieran stiffens as my fingers trace over a raised bump. I pause over the top of it, curiosity getting the better of me before I force my finger to move away but I find another…and another…and another.
With sickening dread, I come to the stark realization that Kieran’s tattoos are more than just a beautiful artistic design—they’re hiding secrets.
Myheart free-falls.
“Kieran—”
“The box, sunshine,” he whispers. “Keep the memories in the box.”
Chapter 31
Layla
Layla’s Life List
Have a water fight
Go to second base
Have an orgasm in public
Go on the best date of my life
Cuddle by the fire
Have a man throw themselves at my car(Kieran forced me to write this one)
My nerves are absolutely frayed and despite nothing being wrong no matter how much I tell my brain I’m fine it seems to be freaking out that I’m currently sitting in a doctor’s waiting room.
Even the book in my hand has gone unturned. I’ve read the same page five times now.
Usually books are my comfort, the one thing in my life that never failed me like my body continually did, but I haven’t had to go to a doctor’s office in nearly three months. I haven’t missed the antiseptic smell or the sound of children’s snotty sniffles and coughs.
I didn’t miss this one bit and sitting in this uncomfortable plastic chair is bringing back horrid memories of the countless visits to doctors growing up and everything I had to miss because of them.
