Page 226 of Stay Scared

Something inside my chest pulls tight.

That is Cade. Affection sharpened until it nearly resembles accusation because straightforward tenderness makes him itch.

I understand the language.

Apparently I still speak it too.

“How was the crust?”

“Good.”

“You’re lying.”

“It was acceptable.”

“There he is.”

His mouth finally curves.

I remember liking that too.

Not the possession. Not the fights that became endurance contests.

This.

Cade could make an ordinary evening feel louder without needing anything dramatic to happen. We could argue about pizza dough for half an hour and somehow both enjoy ourselves.

I missed that man while I was busy missing all the more dangerous versions of him.

Cade watches me long enough that I know he sees something change.

He still does not take advantage of it.

I close the remaining distance myself.

His breath catches.

“Touch me, Cade.”

Cade moves closer. I stay where I am.

His hand lifts toward my waist but hangs beside me, fingers flexing once. Six weeks ago, that would have looked like progress.

Tonight, it looks like a man holding a live wire.

“Touch me, Cade.”

His hand closes around my waist before I finish his name, hard enough to drag me into him. The impact pushes a breath from my chest as his other hand catches the back of my neck.

Cade stares down at me. “You should not have said that unless you meant it.”

“I came here.”

His mouth hits mine.

Six weeks of silence disappears violently. Cade kisses like he’s spent forty-two days imagining it and resenting every one of them, his fingers digging into my waist as I grab his shirt and pull him closer.

A rough sound breaks from him.