Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

She nods and I have to fight myself to step away from her and grab a t-shirt from my closet. The way she was biting her lip and almost looking nervous is one of the reasons why I need to keep tonight platonic—unless she makes the first move, which I’m totally on board with.

On my way back into her room, I stop and watch as she trails her hand over the gray comforter on the bed Maya picked out before walking over to the window. She cups her hands around her eyes and leans toward it, her back tensing and her breath hitching as she steps back.

“Lia?” She jumps out of her skin, turning and nearly falling in her heels. I reach out and steady her. “Everything alright?”

She taps my arms playfully. “You scared the life out of me!”

I chuckle, staring into the depths of her eyes. As I do, her shoulders relax and the hand still on my arm slides up to my shoulder.

“Hi,” I stupidly say, throwing the t-shirt I’m holding onto the bed.

“Hi back,” she squeaks.

I move my hands to her hips, my fingers gripping her as I slam my lips down onto hers with the passion flowing through me—I’ve been waiting all night to do this. She’s so goddamn beautiful and her wrapping her arms around my neck has me wanting to direct us toward the bed.

Instead, as she opens up her mouth, I swipe my to

ngue along hers, relishing in the moan the movement elicits—a moan that speaks to the primal part of me, but for some ungodly reason, I find myself pulling back from her.

I drag my lips away and rest my forehead against hers, our chests heaving.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she whispers and I’m assuming she’s talking about how it feels like we’ve never been apart, like we fit together perfectly—or at least that’s how I feel.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of that,” I say back. “But I need to say goodnight now before this turns into a strings-attached sleepover.”

She chuckles but neither of us step away for a beat until I place one final soft, closed mouth kiss on her lips and pull away completely, shaking my head and murmuring, “I’m going to regret this,” before walking toward the door.

“Goodnight,” she says when I’m about to cross over the threshold.

I spin around, the fire in my gaze trying to set her alight and I know I need to leave now. “Goodnight, Lia.”

She smiles wide as I close the door, keeping my eyes connected to hers until it finally clicks shut.

“Would you like some tea, Mr. Unicorn?” Izzie lifts her pink teapot, pouring the unicorn an imaginary cup of tea before turning her blue-eyed gaze to me. “Miss Amelia?”

Lifting the small, lavender cup and saucer, I extend them closer to her. “I’d love a cup of tea, please, Miss Izzie.”

I stare at the unicorn—one of Izzie’s birthday presents. My hand trails over my arm, remembering all of the secret touches from Nate at her party, the looks he would give me, the promises in their depths. I’ll never get enough of him.

Izzie leans over, a small cloth hanging over her forearm as she pours me a cup. When Izzie does tea parties, she goes all out, even wearing white gloves on her hands. Everyone is either Miss or Mr. She can be up here for hours at a time, setting up her table just right and making sure all of her “guests” are catered for.

I bring the cup to my lips, pretending to sip as my cell pings in my pocket. Izzie’s gaze snaps back to mine and I give her an appeasing smile while ignoring my cell.

Once she knows I won’t answer it right away, she goes back to her other guests as my gaze roves around her room.

The first thing it lands on is the painting of her and Natalia hanging on the wall. It’s been three days since Izzie’s party, and I can categorically say this is the worst Tris has ever been. He’s completely cut himself off emotionally and I know it’s only a matter of time before everything comes to a head and he explodes. I only hope the kids don’t see it when it happens.

I catch Izzie looking over at it several times over the next hour, her eyes lighting up with happiness each time she sees it. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like for her having no memories of her mother. She relies solely on the stories people tell, but that only happens with Charlotte and Nate when Tris isn’t around.

It’s times like this I wish I would have pushed Tris more to talk about her with Izzie, because it doesn’t matter how many female role models she has in her life; none of them can take the place of her mother.

A loud crash has both Izzie and me standing up, our gazes swinging toward her door. The clock on her bedside table tells me it’s about time for Tristan to be home; not that he’s done anything but disappear into his office when he’s walked through the door this week anyway.

There’s another bang, but this time it’s followed by Clay’s voice.

“It’s only Clay,” I tell Izzie. She sits back down, getting back to her duties as I place my cup and saucer down. “I’ll be back.”

I leave Izzie, walking out of her room and across the hallway into Clay’s room. Taking one step inside, I halt, staring with wide eyes.