The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet 1)

She swooped toward me after I’d driven home one-handed, turned off my bike, then stomped up the stairs and into our tiny apartment.

Her eyes widened with worry, taking in my swollen ugly wrist, instantly losing her wariness around me and fussing as kindly and as sweetly as she had with the splinter.

She bustled around, fear and affection thick in her voice as she charged to the mostly-empty freezer to find something cold for the swelling.

With jerky speed, she flew back to me, skidding to a stop and falling to her knees before me. Her focus entirely on making me better and no other mess from before.

Having her close.

Having her care.

Fuck.

I couldn’t help myself.

I reached out to cup her cheek as she rested a bag of frozen peas on my skin, so grateful to have my Della back.

The moment I touched her, she flinched and melted at the same time.

The nastiness of pushing each other away vanished, and with a bone-deep sigh, she rested her cheek in my palm.

It was all I could do to stay touching her innocently. My body bellowed to clutch her tight, to stop thinking about everything, to just give in to whatever pulled us together.

The sensation of holding her was one of coming home after being lost for so long, and I ached.

I ached with a need so hungry, so raw, I couldn’t think.

All I wanted to do was slip off the dining chair and pull her against me. Words and apologies filled my mouth with bitter regret. Why had I been so cruel to her? How had I forgotten how much I cared for this girl?

We stayed like that for far too long, me bent over her with my hand on her cheek and her curled on the floor with a heart-stealing wish in her eyes.

My lips tingled. My fingers fluttered. And Della arched up on her knees.

My attention fell to her mouth.

Her blonde hair—no longer blue or fantastical—hung over her shoulder, tickling my knuckles, and I wanted something I’d never wanted before.

I wanted things to be different. I wanted things to be innocent between us again but finally ready to accept that that would never happen.

She licked her lips, breaking the spell, inviting me to do something I desperately wanted. I needed to kiss her. But I needed it to be right. I’d had enough wrongness between us to risk losing her again.

I sat taller in my chair to kiss her forehead. To kiss her like I was allowed.

The moment my mouth touched her skin, she inhaled sharply, swallowing a quick moan. She bowed into me, pressing herself against my legs.

My thighs bunched as my body hardened against my will, and lust that I had no right to feel became excruciating.

With clenched teeth, I dropped my touch, removed my kiss, and tore my gaze away.

Standing with a wobble born from everything she made me feel, I stepped around her still hunched on the kitchen floor. Breathing for the first time since I’d kissed her, I headed to the dresser where my clothes waited, grabbed a cleaner pair of jeans and t-shirt, then walked down the corridor to change in the bathroom away from her heated eyes.

It took me twice as long, awkward and painful with only one working hand.

If things were simple between us, I would’ve asked for Della’s help. I would’ve chuckled as she wrangled me from my t-shirt and teased her as she unzipped my jeans.

But things weren’t simple. And that would be a complication I couldn’t afford.

By the time we made it to the emergency room, taking the bus to the downtown hospital, my wrist was three times the size and an angry blue to match Della’s ribbon.

The nurse checked us in, asked for a deposit up front as we didn’t have documents or identification for insurance, advised I’d need X-rays and most likely a cast, and finally that the wait was long.

I told Della to go home. She had school in the morning, and who knew how much time we’d waste in this place.

She nodded to appease me but never left.

She sat beside me, reading trashy magazines, getting me coffee and water, never leaving my side for longer than a few minutes. Every so often, I felt her watching me through a curtain of blonde, her fingers tracing her lips. She’d avert her gaze the second I noticed, leaving me confused and achy and in more pain than before.

It was the longest evening of my life sitting in that room. Not because of my wrist but because of her.

It was a constant fight not to hug her close and kiss her softly. All I wanted to do was be free with my actions and affections. I just wanted to touch her to reassure myself that she was still here, despite the stress of the past few months.