Tucker (The Family Simon 1)

When does he have time for someone like you?

Those had been Tucker’s words. Words that pretty much said it all. Someone like you. Someone who doesn’t matter. And that’s exactly what this was about. At least for her.

Abby was smart enough to know there was a whole lot more going on than a few choice words that hurt. Ever since that first night that she’d stayed over at Tucker’s, she’d been walking on glass. Afraid to be happy. Afraid of not being happy. Afraid of being afraid.

Afraid of loving him.

Afraid of never being loved in return. It was exhausting, pretending that everything was perfect, because perfect was nothing more than an illusion. She loved this man and he— She had no idea what was going on inside his head.

“Hey.” His voice was low and had that bit of roughness she loved. She felt his warmth at her back and closed her eyes, wishing that she could melt into him and forget it all. But she couldn’t. Abby had her pride.

His hands were on her shoulders. “I acted like an asshole.”

“Yep.”

“But Kendrick pissed me off.”

She wiggled out of his hands and turned around so that she could face him. “Why?”

His dark eyes studied her for the longest time, and then he shrugged. “I don’t like him touching you. I was…I was jealous.”

“Jealous,” she repeated. That something inside her flipped around causing her heart to speed up and her face to burn. She had to shut that stuff down right now, because jealously didn’t mean any more than a loss of control. It wasn’t love. It was the fear of losing a possession.

“He had his hand on you, and I didn’t like it.”

“So you decided to throw me over your shoulder like fucking Tarzan and tear out of the Terrace Room of The Plaza Hotel in front of, I don’t know, 350 guests?”

“400.”

“What?” she snapped.

“There were 400 guests.”

Silence fell between them, and then Abby spoke, clearly and concisely. Mick would have been proud. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Abby.” He moved forward, but she moved back a step. “What the hell are you saying? I acted like a dick. I admit it. I was jealous as fuck and acted like a goddamn fifteen-year-old.” Tucker’s face was dark and intense, and he crowded her until the back of her legs pressed against her bed.

Couldn’t he see what was inside her? Why couldn’t he see?

“You’ve surprised me,” Tucker said, almost to himself.

“What do you mean?”

Jesus. Just tell him to leave and get it over with.

His hand was now in her hair, and it took everything that she had not to lean into his touch. His other hand crept up and cupped her jaw, his thumb rolling over her bottom lip in a slow, sensual way.

She was falling. There was no other way about it. She would fall into a puddle at his feet, and he could stomp all over her.

“You, my friend, have knocked me on my ass.”

“Take your hands off of me, Tucker. I can’t think straight when you’re touching me.”

He grinned at that but didn’t let go. Instead he lowered his head until he was so close to her that she could count every single eyelash if she wanted to.

“Abby, I was jealous as fuck because I don’t want another man touching you. I don’t want another man looking at you, and I sure as hell want to know if you’re having conversations about art with Dean Kendrick.” He drew in a ragged breath and Abby watched him, her heart pounding crazily. He had to see what was in her eyes. He had to know.

“This thing between us has gone way past casual. It’s so far past casual that I’m…”