The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood 1)

“Me.”

She unlocks the door and fans a hand, welcoming me in. As I walk past, I inhale the scent of strawberries and something else, some kind of girly fragrance. It’s the smell of her body wash and shampoo. I smelled it the whole way here and it drove me crazy. It’s even stronger now. Her hair’s wet and combed straight over her shoulders, and she’s dressed in a simple black tee and yoga pants that hug her hips and thighs nicely.

Her eyes narrow as she notices the laptop tucked under my arm.

“Good and bad news,” I say, setting my computer on the bed. “It’s the off season. We won’t be able to catch a race, but they said there’s a practice run tomorrow, and visitors can watch.”

She crosses her arms as her lips purse into a tight frown, and I can’t help but notice she’s not wearing a bra. Shit. Clearing my throat, I look away.

“What’s the computer for?” She walks to the bed and sits, pulling her legs up to block my view of her chest. Good.

“I downloaded Talladega Nights. Thought since we can’t catch a race, we could watch the inspiration for this stop.”

She smiles, and warmth prickles beneath my breastbone. I haven’t seen a sincere smile from her in years. I forgot how her lips curved, revealing the tiny dimple beside her mouth. I immediately want to make her smile again.

“And”—I jog to the door and grab the pile of food I left in the hallway—“dinner. Or vegging out food. Whichever you prefer.” I hold up the Chinese takeout and the grocery bag of junk food I picked up from the store across the street.

“Wow,” she says. “And you accomplished all this while I was in the shower.”

“You apparently take really long showers.”

A hint of red touches her cheeks, and she reaches out. “Give up the chocolate.”

Digging through the plastic bag, I find the Hershey bars and the Pepto-Bismol. I hand her both. She looks at the medicine, her eyes studying the label. “Thanks.”

I nod. She’s still staring at the pink bottle, her thumb running over it, like picking up stomach medicine is the most thoughtful gesture. It makes my chest tighten, and I have to break the heavy silence.

Flipping my laptop open, I say, “I assume you’re a Ricky Bobby fan.”

She snorts. “Do I lose cool points if I say no?” Her eyes peek up at me as she fiddles with the Hershey wrapper. Before I can return a quip, she says, “Tyler watched it at least once a month. I never got why.”

I shrug again. I’m real smooth right now. “He’s a dude.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I knew there was a secret.”

Our banter is easy and light, but there’s a slight tension snapping at the air, creating a tangible wall between us. And when she says secret, my insides twist. I can’t reveal Tyler’s darkest parts to he

r. Or mine, for that matter. I can only be here for her while she works out the mess in her mind. I just hope that it doesn’t tear me down in the process.

I’m not as immune to her as she is to me.

After setting up the laptop on the bed, I grab a box of Chinese takeout and a plastic spork—can’t believe they still make these—and plop down on the other side of her. “Sure you don’t want to eat real food first?”

“Blasphemy.” She shakes her head and takes a bite of her chocolate bar.

I stuff a huge sporkfull of Sesame Chicken into my mouth to keep from smiling.

During the movie, my gaze occasionally drifts to her. She braids her hair, two long tails over her shoulders. Fidgets with her nails, like she’s trying to keep from biting them. It used to be a habit. Then she shifts positions, from sitting to laying on her stomach, her ass kicked up at me. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my hands over my face.

I’m such a fucking masochist.

When the movie finally ends, I spring off the bed like it’s on fire. I can’t be in the same room as her any longer and maintain chivalrous thoughts. As if I’d ever had them about her to begin with. Maybe if I beat my head against my room wall for the rest of the night, by morning I’ll be straight.

I quietly pack up my computer and then grab a bag of potato chips.

“Holden.” Sam’s voice is questioning, and I look up, finding her pressed against the headboard, her eyes locked on something over my shoulder.

Turning around, I spot the box on the dresser. When I look back at her, her eyes are on me. “Yeah?”