Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

He leans his back against the tree. I feel a tremor flicker through him. Then he buries his face in the crook of my neck.

I tell myself it’s just his high making him needy, but his grip on me is firm. His breath beneath my ear is warm and real. I can feel his heart pound.

He sets me down a moment later, and he doesn’t look down at me.

Just when disappointment spreads through me, he shifts his night-gray eyes to mine. His lips curve up: a little smile; sad little smile.

“Let’s go inside... so I can hold you for a while.”

“That sounds good.” I blink back tears.

Kellan takes my hand and shuts his eyes before we start to walk. I wonder why he seems so sad—if he can sense my loss. I worry that his uncle took a turn, or that the girl called him, but that doesn’t seem likely—because his hand is threaded through mine. His fingers stroke mine, easing something taut inside me.

“Your hand is warm,” I whisper as a lightning bug drifts over us. Beyond the blinking yellow light, I find the crouching lion, Leo.

“Your hand feels good.” His voice is low and rough.

I run my eyes over Kellan’s messy hair, his tired face... and this time he looks back at me. One corner of his mouth tucks up.

“You’re good to me,” he murmurs, heavy-lidded.

“You’re good,” I say back. Oh, please be good...

I want to throw my arms around his neck and cry. He seems to sense my building grief. His big hand squeezes mine at the moment my heart races, spurred by pain. It’s perfection. I feel weak and warm. Strangely satiated, despite the darkness that hangs over us. I don’t notice Kellan’s stopped walking until I feel the tug of his hand. I look back and find his mouth stretched open.

I know what I’ll see before I turn back toward the house. It’s in the ether: hurt. Kellan’s sweetness hid it from me, but it was always on its way.

“Why are you sad? I’m afraid I know the answer, and that brings me to my instructions.”

It’s her—the girl from the garage. Standing next to her on Kellan’s back porch is his healthy-looking Uncle Pace.

I see the color drain from Kellan’s cheeks even in the dark. In the faint moonlight, his skin looks alabaster.

His voice is static. “Go inside, Cleo.”

My throat closes. I push against the pressure. “Why?”

“Trust me. I’ll explain this later. I just need a few minutes.”

“What?” I look from our joined hands to the duo on the porch. They look solemn. Maybe even angry. “You’ll explain what later? Who’s that girl?”

“She’s no one.” He shakes his head.

“No she isn’t. She knocked on the car window. In Atlanta.” I drop his hand as my pulse quickens. “Who is she? Just tell me now.”

His eyes widen, and I know. I don’t know exactly what this is, but I know enough to see that he’s deceived me. His uncle isn’t hurt. Why did we go to Atlanta in the middle of the night? To meet this girl? Who is she to him?

“Why are you lying to me?”

“Cleo—please.” His tone sounds desperate. “You have to go inside. I need to talk to Pace alone.” He actually pushes on my shoulder as the two of them descend the stairs, their eyes on Kellan.

The girl rushes forward to greet him, and I dart past his uncle, feeling sick. My heart is beating so hard, I can’t even make it upstairs once I get inside. I stand at his sink, filled with those stupid shake-stained glasses, holding my stomach and looking at the dark window in front of it.

Through the glass panes, I hear low voices.

I wait to get my breath again. For the pressure on my chest to lessen. When I realize it’s not going to, I run up the stairs and down the long hall to the windowed room, where I start frantically gathering my things. I hug my canvases to my chest, strap my bags on my shoulders, and step back into the hall.

If he wants to tell me the truth, he can call me. I’m not sticking around to hear that Kellan fucked me over. That I’m the only one who’s fallen—into my emotions. I’m not sticking around to find out that girl is his ex or something. I can’t handle that tonight. I can’t.