Finding Him (Covet 2)

Chapter Eighteen

JULIAN

I told her more than I told my own shrink.

How’s that for pathetic?

She was easy to talk to—and I was way past trying to impress someone who was too busy mourning to care if I was a good guy or not—not that I wasn’t trying to at least make her understand I wasn’t that man anymore, or I tried not to be.

Being a jackass was my default mode.

It protected me.

It kept me safe.

It was the only thing that kept me sane when my dad laughed at me or told me I would never amount to the investment he put into my education and upbringing.

I ran my hands through my hair and leaned against the tile wall of the shower.

I’d needed an escape, not a shower.

Her hands looked like they were healing when I rewrapped them, leaving some fingertips out that seemed undamaged, but I knew I was putting her in danger by not calling someone, so before I flipped on the water, I went outside, called my brother, told him that we needed a car sent up, and then momentarily wanted to take it all back.

I felt desperate.

Like the bubble was about to pop.

It would take a few hours, but they would be here soon.

And this thing between me and Keaton, whatever it was, would end just the way it started, with our cars going in opposite directions, our hearts still sore and healing.

Alone.

It would end with both of us alone.

Loneliness felt like death to me. I’d always had Izzy, I’d always had an end goal, and now I was in limbo, going through the motions and trying to deal with a death I refused to acknowledge.

My own.

The death of the man I used to be and the rebirth of someone who was trying like hell to be better—to be the man my mother had raised.

I pounded my fists against the tile again then flipped off the water and wrapped a towel around my wet body. I was so immersed in my own thoughts that I wasn’t watching where I was going when I jerked open the bathroom door and made my way toward the guest bedroom.

Keaton turned a corner.

I stumbled to catch her arms without falling on my ass, and she pressed her hands against my chest as we collided against the wall.

Her hands slid down my wet chest, her stunned expression half hidden by her black hoodie. My blood roared as my heart hammered against my chest, faster and faster the longer she kept her fingers pressed to my skin.

I had promised I wouldn’t seduce her.

My body was currently cursing me to hell as her eyes roamed down to the towel that was wrapped around my waist.

She gulped.

If she licked her lips, I was a dead man.

If I saw tongue, I would have no choice but to taste her.

“You—” Her voice was breathless, like she’d been running up and down the halls. “Were dirty?”

I pressed my lips together to keep from smirking. “That’s generally why people shower.”

“Not the only reason,” she teased and took a step back. “Hot or cold?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hot or cold shower?”

I gaped and then narrowed my eyes “If you’re suggesting I’m taking cold showers because I told you I’d keep my hands off you and you’re just that fucking irresistible that I’m having a hard time keeping my promise . . .” I leaned down and whispered, “You’d be right.”

I quickly sidestepped her before I did something that would shatter the cease-fire between us and hurried into my room, shutting the door behind me.

My heart thudded against my chest as I dropped the towel to the floor and walked toward the closet just as a soft knock sounded and the door opened.

I turned, not thinking.

She walked in, eyes lowered to where the towel had just been.

I held my groan in. “Staring doesn’t help, Keaton.”

“Sorry.” Her eyes jerked away. “I, uh, didn’t think you would be naked, but it’s fine, I can handle naked, I just wondered”—her eyes lowered again, widened—“if . . .”

“If?” I prompted, enjoying the way I distracted her. “Eyes up here, Keaton.”

“Sorry!” she snapped. “I just saw something . . . on . . . the wall.”

“Something big?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you want me to make chocolate chip cookies or not?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Well, good.” She crossed her arms. “I’ll just be doing it now . . . uh, not it, the cookies, not doing the cookies, making—”

“You should go.” I grinned.

She rolled her eyes, more at herself than me, it seemed, and left my room so fast the door almost hit her on the way out.

I ignored the release in my chest as I put on a pair of black jeans and a cream sweater.

And realized that several minutes later I was still smiling as I passed the bathroom and walked into the kitchen.