The Accidental Text

But then he takes another step forward, standing so close I can smell his scent, woodsy and manly and oh so welcoming. His jaw is tight as he stares down.

For a second, I think he’s going to snap at me, the way Declan would, telling me to pull my shit together and stop embarrassing myself.

But suddenly his arms are around me.

I let out a gasp, shock rocketing through me as he pulls me into a hug. I collapse against him, resting my cheek against his firm chest, tentatively putting my arms around his middle.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He couldn’t have chosen more perfect words if he’d tried. It’s like he’s reached into my head and chosen my tenderest spot, the part that’s always trying to downplay everything…

Being bullied in high school, being twisted by Declan, my mom and dad’s deaths.

I erupt into tears again, pushing my face against his chest, sobbing and gripping onto him.

He runs his fingers through my hair, soothing me as he tells me it’s okay, it’s going to be okay… and, with his body so close, I believe him.

Even if I know he’s not reading as much into this embrace as I am – he’s not thinking about how good it will be to hug like this every day for the rest of our lives – the comfort is still achingly welcome.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Asher

I keep my hands above waist height, focusing hard on stroking my fingers through her hair and cradling her body to mine. I have to keep reminding myself that, as far as she knows, I’m offering her a hug with innocent intentions.

She doesn’t know how primed and crazed I am. She doesn’t know that, even now, my body is trying to get me to glide my hands down to her ass and squeeze, massage, rub until she’s not crying but moaning, moaning in a way that tells me she wants to be claimed, owned…

But only by me. Only ever by me.

She looks up, her eyes red from crying. But the tears have stopped.

“Thank you, Asher,” she whispers. “I’m so freaking embarrassed.”

I force myself to step away, the hug naturally coming to an end. It takes everything I have not to smooth my thumb over her cheek, pushing away her tears.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just hope you’re okay. But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t think you’d find it very interesting.”

I almost laugh. Everything about Autumn is interesting to me, every little detail. There’s nothing she could say that would bore me. I want to know everything about her.

But it’s not like I can tell her that.

“It can help to talk things through,” I tell her.

“Really? I’m scared I’ll bore you to death.”

I smirk. “Try me.”

“Okay, but maybe…”

She gestures toward the café, and I nod. “Sure, let me get you something to drink. What would you like?”

We step into the café and I head over to the counter.

Autumn takes a seat in the corner, her back to the wall, facing the entrance as though she wants to make sure she knows who’s in here with us. The thought makes my body tense up, every muscle on edge, as I think about some bastard making my woman scared.

No one has that right. Ever.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” she says as I return with the coffees.

She’s sitting with her shirt buttoned all the way to the top, in a pair of faded blue jeans, nothing outwardly sexy about her outfit whatsoever. But she still makes me crazy, especially how she’s tucked her hair up in a messy bun, as though begging me to loosen it and show her wild side a little.

“If you want to, I’m happy to listen,” I say, forcing down the hundred other things I want to say… things about how she can always talk to me, forever, about how she never has to doubt herself.

“It’s not a big deal…”

I smirk as I sit down, keeping my hands in my lap so I don’t reach across the table and softly tweak her chin. “The last time you told me something wasn’t a big deal, it was a pretty big deal.”

She nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’ve got a habit of downplaying stuff. But I don’t want to spoil our…”

Was she about to say date?

I clench my fists, glad she can’t see them under the table. It might make her wonder why I’m getting so intensely involved, leading to questions… questions that will be difficult to answer without telling her everything.

“You haven’t spoiled anything, Autumn,” I tell her firmly so she understands.

She runs a hand through her hair. It’s like she knows how cute she looks with her bun so hastily thrown together. There are so many wayward strands just begging me to smooth them into place.