Heartbreak (Stripped 1.50)

I give him a smile, feeling shy. “I know.”

A gust of salty breeze sends a chill under my skin. I don’t flinch at the cold. I don’t even think my skin gets goose bumps. I have too much experience hiding what I feel—especially if it’s a weakness. No one needs to know how badly I want an extra blanket or food. They don’t need to know how much I want a goddamn hug.

Blue seems to notice anyway. He shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. The scent of him—male and somehow familiar—soothes me. The warmth left from his body feels like a hug.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

He sends a sideways glance to the house before he starts walking. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” Long enough to know what to expect from Matthew and the other kids. Long enough to know what not to expect—any kind of support from the foster parents. They’re struggling to get by just as much as the kids, hoping our monthly checks stretch a little farther than what we eat or break.

A nod tells me he understands all of that. “Where do you hang out?”

What he doesn’t ask is—where did you come from? Why are you here? Another sure sign he’s been in the system a while. Those are things we don’t share. At least, not unless we’re close to someone. And I’ve never gotten close. My dad’s in jail and my mom… I don’t like to think about her. These aren’t the kind of stories I share around the dinner table.

I’m just trying to survive.

I have to hurry to keep up with his long strides, even though I know he’s slowing down for me. “After school some people meet up at the diner or the park behind the school.”

He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, going half a beat slower. “But not you.”

“No, not me.” How does he know that? Everything I said and what I didn’t say. “I’m not that social.”

“Hmm.” His expression is doubtful.

My heart thumps once, as if afraid of losing him—a warning signal. “Except with you, of course. I like you.”

Now he looks wry. “Uh-huh.”

I lift my chin. I might be bullshitting in the general sense, but I don’t like him calling me on it. Besides, I do actually like him. Asshole. “You don’t believe me?”

A shrug reminds me just how much taller he is than me. “You don’t really know me, so I don’t think you can like me or dislike me.”

“Very philosophical,” I say, matching his wry tone. “Except I’m sure Matthew dislikes you plenty.”

A snort. “I’ll try not to wake the house when I cry about that.”

Something in me wants to challenge him, to push him, to find out exactly how far he’ll go in pursuit of me. “You should be worried. Matthew isn’t a foster kid. He’s their son.”

He looks amused. “You worried about me, beautiful?”

The word rushes over me, a spring brook over hard rock, smoothing my edges. “Maybe I am.”

A shadow darkens his eyes. “I’m worried about you too. He shouldn’t fuck with you like that.”

“Hey,” I say quietly. “You stopped him.”

I trail my fingertips along his forearm, the first voluntary touch from me to him. He’s warm and solid. His skin is softer than I would have thought, the muscle underneath as hard as brick. His body is a contradiction, and I think the person underneath is too.

He pulls his hand from his pocket to hold mine. “What about when I’m not there?”

A shiver runs through me. That time could come any minute. Foster kids are constantly shuffled around. Matthew might be convincing his parents to send Blue away right this minute. We only have this moment together. We only have now.

I pull the lighter from my pocket and hold it up. “I’m not totally defenseless, you know. Next time he won’t catch me off guard.”

Blue raises his eyebrows. “Is that

his?”