Page 122 of Hate You More

“More fun than sex?”

“Come up with ideas?” My shoulders lift, more from awkwardness than anything else.

“Ideas?”

“Scenarios, if you like.”

“Your face could power the entire state right now.”

“Troy.” My shoulders drop, suddenly defeated. “Please, we can’t carry on like this. It already feels so dangerous.”

“You think this’ll make it feel less real?”

“I have to try something. I can’t afford to like you too much.”

“I’ll still be me,” he says as his expression seems to move through a dozen things.

And that is a problem, but maybe I can pretend to be somebody else in those moments. Take the pleasure, suck on the joy. Leave the messy bits, hearts and hurt, behind.

“That’s how you’ve gotten through these last months, isn’t it? By pretending? Gretchen and Sunny,” he adds.

I give a shrug. No. Yes. Maybe? I thought I was just doing what needed to be done. Holding on until I turned thirty. Maybe I was wrong.

“Okay, what else you got?” he asks softly.

“We could each pick a scenario. A scene. Something we’ve liked in a book or a movie.”

“What kind of movie?”

“I’m talking about the setup, Troy. None of this ‘Oops!’” I press my hand to my mouth. “‘I dropped my spanner.’”

“It sounds like you watch tradesmen porn.”

“I don’t watch porn,” I retort sharply. I force myself to relax. “But if I did, I’d probably be into watching dudes touch each other.”

“I’m not into that.”

“What if I wear a mustache?”

He makes a noise like he’s in pain, dropping his head to my shoulder.

“Okay, we’ll table the ’stache. Table it for later.”

“Burn it, more like.”

I give into a giggle, relieved the moment has turned less emotional. “We’ll call it strategy. Just another part of our deal.”

His thumb brushes once over my knuckles, slow and thoughtful. “Strategy it is.”

Relief and excitement bloom all at once. “You mean it?”

He leans in with a provocative little smile. “I do, because no one else is kissing you.”

His lips brush mine tantalizingly slow, and I allow him to press me back to the mattress. He whips away the sheet from us both and, in that instant, I get a flash of his ink. My mark on him.

With his eyes on mine, his expression seems as clear as glass. It’s like he knows this is my way of admitting I already want more than I should.

And way more than I deserve.