His words sweep over me, warming me from the inside out. As I allow myself time to adjust to the sensation, I can’t peel my eyes away from his. Something passes between us in that moment, some sort of silent understanding.
I give him a timid smile. “You’re a good man, Pierce,” I whisper.
Something flashes across his face at my words. An oddly pained expression, so intense it’s impossible to miss despite it disappearing more quickly than it came. “Don’t pass judgment on me too soon, Miss Knightley. We’re just getting to know each other.” His tone is serious, etched in sorrow yet not cold-hearted.
Then he flashes me a weak but reassuring smile, effectively ironing out the wrinkles of concern that have formed in my forehead. Finally reaching the third-floor landing, he asks, “Which apartment number?”
“Pierce, I can take it from here,” I impart softly.
His look of exasperation and the fact he’s standing stark still—more sturdy than a statue—causes me to giggle.
“Okay. You win. 3E.” I give in.
He marches down the hall the rest of the way, coming to a stop in front of my door before allowing my feet to drop slowly to the ground. A hum of electricity ignites from the friction of our bodies rubbing against each other in the process.
Am I the only one, or does he feel it too?
I’m not even nervous because I know what to expect. This isn’t a first date. I don’t have to worry about whether or not he’s going for the lips or the cheek, or if I should invite him inside or invoke the three-date rule like they talk about in movies.
“Thank you, Pierce.” I smile, plucking my keys from the inside of my clutch.
“Anytime, Kate.” He smirks his boyishly charming smirk at me once more, and my heart flutters in response.
Just before I step inside, he leans down. Even though I know what he’s going to do, part of me hopes for more. But he’s a gentleman. He won’t push me in the direction of something I’m not ready for, even if I am blazing with desire. His warm lips press against my cheek, and I realize it’s the second friendly, no-strings-attached kiss he’s gifted me with tonight. I cherish it for what it is. Then, wordlessly, he takes several steps backward as if needing to distance himself from me. With each step in the opposite direction, he continues eyeing me the entire time. Throwing one last cursory glance up and down my body, he finally turns, retreating back to the stairwell that leads down to his car.
When he’s finally out of sight, I step inside my empty apartment. For once, it doesn’t feel quite as lonely in here anymore. In the course of an evening, my own private quarters are suddenly more inviting. I lean against the door, attempting to clear my errant thoughts which have produced an erratic pulse paired with erratic breathing.
Then I smile. I smile so long, my cheeks actually begin hurting. And it’s, perhaps, the most important smile I’ve had in a while.
It isn’t forced in order to trick someone, like my mother, into believing I’m okay.
It isn’t made out of politeness because it’s what’s expected of me.
This one is as genuine as it is indifferent. It’s unbiased.
This one’s just for me.
Chapter Twelve
THE FEW WEEKS Pierce and I continue to meet at the club. We enjoy ourselves, dancing and sipping drinks and conversing until it’s time to leave. This persists until we finally agree we’re tired of the party atmosphere and he invites me back to his place—in a purely platonic manner, of course.
We put a movie on, enjoy some popcorn, and play a few different games of cards at the same time. Everything from Go Fish to Spades. It’s simple and perhaps a bit juvenile but I have to admit, I haven’t experienced anything like this since leaving Central Valley three years ago.
Although I had experienced less than eight months of living there, I became a bit spoiled, growing accustomed to the endless possibilities and freedoms I believed I had been granted. For some reason, while I was able to rationalize my leaving there was imminent—like a storm brewing in the distance, moving closer to shore with each passing minute—I felt invincible, as if that time would never actually come. Foolishly, I thought I had forever.
Upon leaving, the loneliness I had endured for the greater part of my life, that should have been immune to, was a difficult readjustment, to say the least.
So, here I sit in Pierce’s living room for the fifth night in a row, and I’m not even ashamed to admit I don’t regret befriending him a bit. Some might say bouncing from one guy to the next isn’t classy. My mother would definitely call me uncouth. But he’s drawing me out of my comatose, pathetic existence, almost like he’s reviving some of my faith in the world by showing me that life goes on even when we sometimes feel like it can’t.
Should I feel bad about that? About improving my mental health using whatever means are provided to me?
Absolutely not. I’m unquestionably not looking for love, so there’s also that.
ALSO, I’m a healthy, vital, young adult with a sensual side. One who’s quickly discovering now that I’ve awoken my sexuality, I can’t just shut it off again. Not completely.
Honestly, I’m not opposed to testing boundaries and trying new things. Even though I was still hopeful, losing Gray the first time in some ways conditioned me for what I’m going through now. It still hurts. A lot. But it’s a little easier this time around; I’m finally able to use my head instead of being blinded by my heart.
And here is what my head is telling me: the likeliness of ending up with Gray at this point—even on down the road— is zip. Zero. Zilch. That ship has sailed. The door to that part of my life needs to be slammed shut, sealed, nailed, and padlocked with the key placed somewhere unobtainable. Like in the center of some hot, gurgling, molten lava.
“You want to watch something else?” Pierce asks me, picking up the remote and holding it out in silent offering.
“I’ve honestly not even been paying attention. I’ve been off in my own head,” I admit.
“Anything you want to share or feel like getting off your chest?”
I snort. “Yeah, just what men love. Talking about problems and life’s philosophical questions.”
“Well, if it would make you feel better, I would love that,” he states genuinely.
God. How is he so charming, and where the hell did he come from? Another planet?
My eyes flit about the room, taking in the modern flow of everything. The floor plan to the bottom half of his apartment is completely open with white walls and wooden flooring. It’s a masculine wash of grays and blacks with minimal décor. There are a few paintings and sculptures but only one photograph, which is on the table beside us.
Nosily, I lean closer for further inspection. It’s definitely a teenage Pierce alongside another boy around his age and a slightly younger girl. It would appear to be taken at an Ice-skating rink.
“These your brother and sister?” I question, turning back to face him. For some reason, he tenses, taking a moment before answering.
“My best friend from when I was younger, and his little sister whom I was also close to. They were like my brother and sister, yeah, just not blood-related. I spent more time with them than I did my own family. I have an older sister and brother, but there was such a difference in age we’ve never been close.” His voice takes on a forlorn edge. I can’t help but notice the way his fists clench then unclench several times in a row as he’s speaking.
“Are you still close with your friend’s family?” I push for answers despite catching on to the fact he had used words like was and were when he described their relationship. I can sense there’s a bigger picture here, one he’s not happy talking about.
“No. We’re not,” he answers simply, tossing me an uncomfortable smile before picking up the remote once more to begin quickly flipping through the channels. “So, what do you want to do? Are you hungry? We could order something for take-out and I’ll have someone pick it up for us,” he suggests, apparently spou
ting the first thing that comes to mind so that he can avoid any more personal questions. We just ate dinner two hours ago and I am not fooled.
“Not hungry, but go ahead if you are. What to do, what to do,” I think out loud, drumming my fingers on the surface of the coffee table in front of us. It’s making him uncomfortable, but I’m not ready to go back to participating in light chit-chat. I’m enjoying getting to know Pierce. I’ve experienced the light and playful side of him, but I want to familiarize myself with all his facets. As I recall that night in the club, how he seemed to open up with the tell-me-a-secret-game, an idea strikes like lightning. “Hmmmm….How about you tell me another secret, and I’ll share one with you? But instead of a funny or embarrassing one this time, why not a serious one?” I sit the remote off to the side along with the drink I’m holding, and tuck my bare feet underneath me as I sit back onto my knees to face him. My thigh slides against his, the warmth of his body emanating heavily through my thin layer of leggings.
“Going for the heavy stuff tonight are we?” Even though he doesn’t sound too excited about this proposition, I can’t help but notice the heat in his eyes. He’s been nothing but a proper gentleman but it doesn’t change the facts of life. The attraction is still there. It crackles in every heated look and tingles with each brush of his skin against mine.
“Why not? I’m feeling a little dangerous. How about we go a step further and say, tell each other our deepest, darkest secret?” I wink playfully but his smile slips a little.
“Okay. You go first.” His tone is ominous and anxious, like he literally might have a slew of skeletons in his closet. From the determined look on his face, he may even be considering opening up and revealing them.
“But I went first last time,” I argue, all playfulness gone.
His expression is unforgiving, clueing me in on the fact he must really want to hear what I admit to before it’s his turn.
My scalp prickles as I silently argue back and forth the merits and follies of admitting some of my past to him. Don’t be stupid, one side of my brains says. Everything will be fine, aren’t you curious? The other side urges.
Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly considering it’s one of my biggest weaknesses, curiosity wins out. For the second time in my life, I’m about to admit something I swore to keep secret from outsiders. My reasons for sharing may be completely different from the last time I did so, but it shocks me all the same. Even if I’ve now had practice in the past, it doesn’t make this any easier. I ultimately decide to go for a vague explanation and to allow him to draw whatever conclusions he wants.
“I’m not really good with people, like at all. I bounce around and never stay anywhere long enough to get close to anyone else. Basically, I’m like a drifter who has very little interaction with other people. It all boils down to running from my past, I guess.” As soon as the last words leave my mouth, I laugh nervously. A cold sweat begins to seep from my pores. Huffing out a long whoosh of air, I maintain eye contact as I anxiously await his response.
I witness the pinching of his lips and squinting of his eyes as he processes this information. Even with a scrunched up face, he’s still undeniably handsome.
“Running from your past…” he muses aloud. “You’re serious?” His mouth turns down at the sides.
Chewing on my lip, I nod.
“Well, hell. That’s going to be nearly impossible to top but I think I can.” His voice is thick as he cracks his knuckles, shocking me that he can take such news in stride like it’s something he hears every day. His chest rises as his lungs expand from a huge intake of air, which he slowly releases before beginning. “We have more in common than we realize. Both of us seem to be running from our pasts. To be blatantly honest, I’m apprehensive to tell you this, though the fact you were brave enough to confide your secret to me doesn’t give me much choice in the matter anymore. But it worries me you’ll change how you look at me, or worse, recognize me for the terrible person I am. Which is going to suck because, even when we don’t plan it specifically, I find myself trying to clear my schedule for the evenings so we can hang out should you spontaneously call me up or something…” He allows the words to trail off as his eyes glaze over lost in whatever memory he’s about to share with me.
“One thing you’re going to realize quickly about me, Pierce, is I’m not judgmental. And if you’re not ready to share something, don’t feel obligated. Everyone makes mistakes, but it’s our responsibility to take something away from them. Mistakes are lessons we’ll never forget.” I slide my hand along the back of the couch so that my fingertips are nearly brushing his shoulder.
His gaze holds mine, searching for some unknown entity. Whether it’s courage, more time, or a need of convincing I’m genuine, I can’t be certain. Appearing to bite the inside of his cheek as he mulls over my words, he finally finds whatever it is he’s seeking.
“You won’t even judge me if I tell you I killed my best friend?” He winces at the question, his voice sharpened by pain and anger. His eyes seek the photograph in front of us, latching on for more than a few moments before glancing back at me.
Stunned, I have to force myself to think quickly so that he doesn’t close himself off to me. I know better than anyone, when a person finally opens up to another person—particularly when they’re talking about something major that they’ve tried to keep hidden—they experience a heightened state of paranoia and insecurity. I can see the weight of the world settled unto his shoulders from the way his normally confident posture is slumped. His expression is riddled with guilt and sorrow. Another piece of the puzzle falls into place. Is this the source of his demons, of the pain hidden behind the mask of masculine perfection?
“I’m so sorry, Pierce.” I place my hand on his shoulder, unsure of how to show him some support.
“Sorry? What makes you think I am? What makes you so sure it was an accident? Or a mistake?” His voice vibrates with emotion as he catches my wrist, removing it from where I have it perched on his upper arm, but not releasing it.
I glance down to where we’re now touching, his grip on my skin firm but not harsh. It’s almost like he can’t stand that I was just attempting to comfort him, but still needs that connection with someone—however inadvertently—even if he isn’t conscious of the fact.
A cry of disbelief escapes my lips. “Pierce,” I say incredulously, “I may not have known you for long, but I can tell you wouldn’t kill someone unless you either had a damn good reason to do so, or it was a horrible accident. You’re a good person. You’ve helped me these past few days of knowing you, more than you’ll ever be capable of understanding. “Sometimes we do things we can’t take back, but we have to keep moving forward and trying to better ourselves each day. You may never feel like you’ve made amends for whatever happened, but one morning you’ll wake up and realize you just have to accept it. Do you want to tell me about—”
He jerks my wrist toward him, swiftly pulling me along the couch and into his lap. His lips collide with mine; a startled yelp escapes me from the spontaneity of the action. For a brief second, I panic, anxiety flaming in my chest. I’ve only ever kissed…NOPE, not thinking of him tonight.
Closing my eyes, I choose to surrender to the moment. I choose to sever—or at least weaken—the rope tethering me to Gray and allowing him to control my life. I kiss Pierce back with a rekindled enthusiasm for life. And it feels…nice. So, so nice. It’s warm and comforting, and everything a first kiss with someone should be. He doesn’t cross any lines, just keeps one hand planted firmly on my right hip while moving the other to entwine our fingers together. Most of all, he makes me realize I can do this. There are endless possibilities out there, so many things to explore that I won’t be able to if I stay stuck in my current doleful state of being.
Pulling back, he places one more chaste kiss on my lips before he grins at me. I clear my throat.
“That was…random.”
He frowns at my description like
he’s not used to hearing anything short of amazing when it comes to describing him. “Random? That’s a first.”
I giggle at his look of puzzlement. “Well, it was random because I was totally not expecting it. But it was pretty damn nice too,” I admit.
His mouth curves in response. “Only pretty nice? We’ll have to amend that evaluation. I’m not a fan of it.”
With that, he cups the back of my neck and draws me to him once more. Only this time, he pulls out all the tricks in the book, starting out slowly and working his way up to the grand finale. He alternates between lightly teasing the seam of my lips with his tongue to nipping and sucking each lip playfully. His technique reminds me of a predator, coaxing his prey out into the open by failing to display his true skill and agility until the opportune moment. By the time he finally pulls away I’m panting and completely wanting more.
“Well?” he prompts, seeking reconsideration of my initial opinion. His eagerness to impress has me giggling.
“Oh, I’ve definitely been schooled. Your kissing skills are so ferocious, you’ve earned the nickname, Tiger.”
His blue eyes blaze with mischief and longing, making me think he’s going to kiss me again. “If my kissing skills warrant you calling me Tiger, I wonder what nickname you’ll come up with if I ever get you in bed with me,” he husks.
I throw my head back in full-on laughter, but he just reminded me, I need to set something straight since things are suddenly progressing to the physical nature.
He starts to say something, but I place my finger against his lips to silence him. “I need you to know I can’t date right now. I just can’t be in a relationship,” I assert, holding his gaze.
“Got it, babe.” His gruff voice sounds slightly disappointed. Then, his eyebrows form a perfect ‘V’ between them. “Does that mean you don’t want me to kiss you anymore?”
Love on the Rise: Book Two of The Against All Odds Series Page 10