True Heiress vs. Fake Queen Bee novel · Chapter 10 of 24

Chapter 10: Stay

I put my hand in his.

That was the whole answer.

He walked me up the outside stairs in the dark without letting go.

The wood creaked under us on every step.

Below, through our kitchen window, I could see Trudy at the stove in her pajamas, very deliberately not looking up.

Brodie's apartment was the same shape as ours, flipped.

It was cleaner than I expected and emptier.

A couch with a rowing blanket on it.

Two oars crossed on the wall, painted in the team's colors, signed by guys who'd graduated.

A radio on the kitchen windowsill that looked older than both of us.

"My dad's," he said, when he saw me look. "Only gets the Pirates and one polka station."

"Which do you listen to?"

"Depends how the Pirates are doing."

I laughed, and he smiled, and then neither of us was smiling.

He took my face in both his hands.

His palms were rough and careful.

His thumb found the scar through my eyebrow.

"Pony," I said, before he could ask. "I was seven. The pony won."

"Tell me something else true."

"Like what?"

"Why me?"

I thought about my father's voice on the phone, calm as a lobby.

I thought about Brodie yelling my fake name across a lake.

"Because you're the first person who ever made me feel like the name didn't matter," I said.

"I wanted to do that for somebody back."

He kissed me.

It wasn't like the truck.

The truck had been cold hands and laughing and a girl banging on the window.

This was slow, and deep, and it went on until my knees were not completely working.

I pulled his team jacket off his shoulders.

He let it drop on the floor.

I walked him backward, my hand flat on his chest.

His eyes never left mine.

The back of his legs hit the doorframe to the bedroom.

I pulled my sweater off over my head and dropped it.

"I have wanted you since the truck."

His voice came out rough.

"Since the truck."

"Since you laughed at me with hot chocolate on your lip."

He reached behind him and shoved the door open.

"Get in here."

I stepped past him into the room.

The blind was half down.

Streetlight cut a stripe across his bed.

He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off in one motion.

His chest was broad and solid.

I'd never seen him without a sweatshirt.

I wanted my hands on him.

I wanted my mouth on him.

I reached for his belt.

He caught my wrists.

"Slow down."

"Why?"

"Because I've thought about this for five nights straight and I'm not rushing it."

His thumb pressed over the pulse in my wrist.

I could feel his heartbeat through his grip, fast, not slow at all.

"You thought about it," I said.

"Every night since that truck."

"What did you think about?"

He stepped closer.

His chest almost touched mine.

"Taking my time."

His lips brushed my jaw.

"Getting you out of these jeans."

His mouth moved to my ear.

"Hearing you beg."

I shivered.

"Then do it."

He unbuttoned my jeans with one hand, maddeningly slow.

He pushed them down my hips.

I stepped out of them.

He knelt in front of me to pull off my socks.

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