Page 151 of Trusting You

It’s working out well so far if I ignore his recovering body, often sweat-drenched in the living room. If I avoid his long stares as if he’s doing everything possible to stop himself from saying something heart-rendering. If I pretend we don’t have memories together, precious ones, sexy ones, orgasm-inducing ones.

I’m noticing his strength returning, his cocky sentiments coming with greater ease out of his mouth. And I’m ready to dodge, to parry, to banter—anything to stop falling in love with him.

It turns out, it’s not as difficult as I made it out to be in my head, because Locke is respecting all the rules. He’s not chasing or fighting. There are times he tests the boundaries, such as now when his breath tickles my ears, but like a single shark bite, he backs off, never to return. As if my blood isn’t as delicious as he thought.

That’s the worst. Feeling like I don’t meet his standards anymore, now that we’ve come clean with each other.

Believe me, it annoys me, too, that I can’t get it straight—either I want him, or I don’t.

I stare at Locke as he comes out of the nursery, a bleary Lily in his arms. She’s rubbing her eyes, waking up slowly, and Locke peels one arm away from her face and starts waltzing with her in the living room. It’s with a limp, but he’s careful in his sway, favoring both his leg and the baby in his arms.

I sigh, leaning against the counter as I watch them with a sad smile and a full heart, the dishrag limp in my hand.

Can you blame me for being so conflicted?