Holding Her Hand (The Reed Brothers 9)

“Do I look acceptable?” she asks. She halts in the entry to the kitchen.

“Beautiful,” I tell her.

Her cheeks flush. “Thank you.”

“I like this look on you.”

She blows out a breath. “I live for days I can be normal. You have no idea.”

“Define normal.”

“We travel a lot,” she says. “When we’re playing, we have to dress the part, and there’s always a press tour. Sometimes my soul just craves quiet times, times when I can wipe off the makeup, take off the gloves, and just be me.” She makes a little pose. “This is me,” she says. “Take it or leave it.”

“Take it,” I rush to say. “I’m taking it.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Are you sure you want it?”

I walk to her and cup her cheek with my palm. “More sure than I have ever been about anything.”

She smiles at me and my heart trips in my chest. “What movie did you get?”

“A scary one,” I tell her.

“Oh, I hate scary movies.”

“Oh,” I say. “I can get a different one.”

“No, I mean I love scary movies, but they really scare me. You might have to spend the night to keep me from freaking out.”

Spend the night? “I’ll buy you a scary movie every night, if that’s the case. Every. Single. Night.” I grin at her, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’ll sleep with the lights on.”

“Did you just take back my invitation?”

“For now,” she says, ducking her head.

I follow her to the couch, where she waits for me to take a seat. Then she sits down with her thigh pressed alongside mine. I lift my arm to rest on the back of the sofa, and she draws her legs up so that she’s leaning on me. “You can start it.”

I turn on the captions on her TV, and then start the movie. She’s tense beside me, and I love having her this close. She picks up a different remote and the lights in the room go dim. “Is this okay?” she asks. I can see her sign in the light the TV casts. She leans into me a little closer.

“Yes, it’s fine,” I say out loud. She looks up at me and smiles, and my heart does that pitter-patter thing it’s been doing since I got here, only it’s getting worse.

I almost worry that she can hear it. But then again, I don’t care if she can. I want her to know how much she affects me. I want her to know how much I like her, how much I respect her, and I also want her to know how much I want her.

Because I do.

Lark

We’re thirty minutes into the movie when I turn my head toward Ryan’s shoulder and scream into his shirt, which is balled in my tight-fisted grip. He chuckles and takes the remote switch from me to turn the lights up. Then he pauses the movie.

With tender fingers, he pries my hands loose. His shirt was squeezed so tightly that it looks like I wrung it out with my fingernails. I brush it down, trying to make it flat again.

“Why did you turn the lights on?” I ask.

“I wanted to ask if you’re all right,” he says, “but I couldn’t see your hands in the dark.” He smiles at me.

“Why aren’t you afraid?”