More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
The expression that fell over Warren before he shut himself away told me everything I needed to know. He was far more upset with himself for blowing up than he was at Luke or me.
Having Willow with me has its challenges, but at least I have over a decade of time before being thrown into raising a teenager. Warren is doing his best in an impossible situation, though he could be less of a jerk about it.
I take a deep breath in, reminding my nervous system that I have every right to take up space here. He can be pissed, but he can’t make me uncomfortable in my own home—I won’t give him that power.
His head hangs until he can probably see my feet, then he slowly looks up. Eyes heavy and hesitant. There is possibly even fear. Of me? Strange. Not once, even during his yelling, was I fearful of him. Nervous, sure…but not scared.
“I’m sorry for earlier. That was not okay.” I nod, almost missing the uncomfortable silence. “I get angry sometimes. It…” He hesitates. “I’m working on it, among other things…in therapy.” His voice is low and raspy, sounding like the ghost of his usual self.
We can keep things separate but still be human.” “Human?” A glint of teasing returns to his eyes. “Think hunter-gatherer style. For the betterment of our young and our survival.”
“One grocery list—we can still label items, but there’s no point doing two trips. You make breakfasts, and I’ll make dinners. We’ll split the bill fifty-fifty. I won’t interfere with Luke, but I will be his friend—because I like him, and because he might need a friend other than his grumpy older brother.”
“Sometimes I’ll ask you or Luke to hold Willow when I need ten minutes to myself. We can stop orbiting and perhaps start checking in with each other—so we don’t blow up when shit gets hard.”
He shifts Willow onto his chest, holding her head against him with one palm while her bum rests in the bend of his arm. Something about the way he can carry her with one hand and how small she looks in his arms makes me swoon.
How natural it is for him to hold her, like she weighs absolutely nothing at all. He takes a long sip of his water and watches me go around the kitchen. Always staring.
The cotton of his shirt is soft under my fingers, but nothing else about him is. The hard lines of his chest are all solid muscle and bone. He smells like the softest hint of fuel and rust—sort of like an old penny. Not something I’d normally find sexy, but damn if it isn’t wafting straight from my nose into my pulse.
I’m suddenly aware of my breasts as they push into his side, pressing farther with each inhale I take of his intoxicating scent. I’ve been here for far too long. Move away, Chloe. I pause and lift my chin to see his face. He looks down at me with a pained expression that makes me step back until my hands find the countertop behind me. “Sorry,” I mumble.
Whether Warren wants to admit it or not, I think Willow and I are both growing on him. He picked her up out of her bouncer chair last night, then read a book on the couch as she slept on his chest.
“I mean, this is your house too. You can have people over. Let me know when to make myself scarce.” “Oh, right.” Warren’s face falls. Was he going to ask me to hang out with him and his friends? Surely not. “Thanks.” Didn’t think so. Still, a twinge of disappointment rises up. I want to be invited, even if it’s out of pity.
Warren is hot. There is no denying it. Unfortunately, he’s also well aware of that fact. I wonder if one of these friends coming over is a girlfriend. I bet she’s gorgeous. I bet she also has a Pavlovian response to the smell of fuel now too.
I can’t go there. There’s no safety net with Warren. He’s too close, too gorgeous, too brooding, too intriguing. Plus there’s the whole if he leaves, Willow goes into care thing. That little fact alone is enough to wash my attraction away.
“Good to meet you, Chloe. Heard a lot about you.” I look toward Warren. Heard a lot about me? Surely he’d hate to admit that he’s been talking about me…but Warren doesn’t react in the slightest, not even a little embarrassed.
Warren nods and opens the car door, allowing her in. I truthfully thought that no one in his life would know we exist, let alone be excited to meet us. Or have heard a lot about us. My heart flutters a little at that thought.
You are doing a terrific job, Chloe.” He plants a steady hand on my shoulder, and I take a breath in, a single tear falling down my cheek. It’s nice to be told that. Most of the time, I feel absolutely clueless.
After my brief stop at the front desk, I get us both buckled into Warren’s car and finally allow the tears to flow freely. I suddenly have so many questions I didn’t think to ask the doctor.
I think of Connie while I do. I wonder where she is, if she is okay and…mostly, I want to know if she understands the impact she’s had on Willow’s life. On her heart. Possibly forever. I doubt the drinks were worth it.
Once home, I get Willow down for her nap. I snuggle her a little longer than usual and lean my ear down to listen to her tiny chest, feeling it rise and fall gently. I love her so much. Her wide nose and strong brow match my own. Most strangers will presume I’m her mother. I will benefit from that, I’m sure.
“Don’t check the front too closely. I did hit a few elderly people on my way out of the hospital’s parking lot.” “Mercy kills, really,” Warren replies flatly, his eyes creasing as he struggles to contain his amusement.
“Yes. Um, thank you, Warren.” I don’t know what possesses me, but I reach for his hand as we wait for the elevator. I wrap my palm around the back of his knuckles and give a small squeeze. I have got to stop touching him—it does terrible things to my brain.
The bra underneath is a bright purple, and you can make out the shape, color, and texture of the lace from under the thin material of my shirt. It’s nothing compared to what the other women downstairs are wearing; they look like models. Gorgeous, half-naked models. I’m simply trying to blend in, right? Not compete.
His eyes slowly trace my body from the floor to the top of my head, and his jaw ticks. Goosebumps form on my arms under the intensity of his stare. The shirt is working.
don’t wait for Warren’s backup. This is my house too. My baby sister is upstairs. I’m going to cause a fucking scene.
“There are two minors here that we would never get to see again if you assholes do something stupid or their caseworker finds out. This is a drug-free zone.” I lower my brows farther as I step closer to Bryce and slow my speech. “I said Get. The fuck. Out.”
“Chloe, I didn’t know they had drugs on them. I want you to know that. I wouldn’t have—” His jaw clenches as his eyes shut. “I froze. I’m sorry.” I place my hand on top of his on the dining table, and he meets my eyes, finally. “I say this with love, Warren, but you have shitty friends.”
“I’m sorry I ruined your party.” I hadn’t planned on apologizing, but I can’t help it. He looks so sad. Like the kid who invited the whole class to his birthday and no one showed.
“It wasn’t fun anyway. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He looks at me, but not with his usual arrogance. There is no gleam in his eye, no confidence pressed into the corner of his lips. I miss it, actually. He takes a long sip, puts the glass down, and moves his hands to his lap. “My mom died of an overdose.”
“She, uh, actually died on my birthday.” Fucking hell. I don’t even try to stop my jaw from lowering this time. Words fail. “It’s always a weird day for me. Then that, tonight?” He scoffs as he takes a large sip of wine. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to intervene but…thank you.”
My parents didn’t do emotions. Connie had failed me. Kids were cruel and teenagers self-involved. It left me with shallow relationships and empty connections. It taught me to favor polite over real.
This isn’t empty. This is vast, full, abundant. Warren’s eyes swirl with a pain that matches my own. Here, I could choose to exchange part of my hurt for his. We could hold on to it for each other. Ease some.
“I’ve been called worse,” I offer pathetically. Warren tenses before he speaks. “I used to have a real problem with fighting. It’s why I didn’t stay with Luke until I aged out. I got into a fight with another kid at the home we were at…. I don’t even remember why.”
“You’ve got to stop looking at me like that.” He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip, and my eyes fully close. He groans. “Don’t do that either.” “Do what?” My voice is breathier than I’ve heard it before. “Act like you want my touch that much.”
My tongue finds the pad of his thumb. Rough and salty. Possessed by whatever force there is between us, I nip his thumb gently as I look up at him. Warren’s eyes close this time. It is immeasurably rewarding to make him react. I want to see what other reactions I can pull from him. My heart stammers at that thought.
He slides his hand into my hair, holding the base of my skull in his palm before he smiles at me so wide I hardly recognize him. Not a look of desire, but something more—excitement, joy, gratefulness. Alarm sirens sound off somewhere in my mind. This could go wrong. Terribly wrong. I barely know Warren, and he is the only person standing between Willow and foster care. What am I doing?
My better judgment is saying this is a bad idea. But the rest of me screams that this bad idea would feel so, so good.
“I said I didn’t want to be your friend.” Then his lips are on mine, steady and encompassing. My brain melts away. The version of me that suggested we do anything but this is gone. She was a fool. He parts my lips with his tongue, and I place my hand on the back of his neck to pull him closer in.
Warren lets out a small groan as he readjusts and brings his other hand to my ass as well. He can kiss, like really kiss. Perhaps I have never been truly kissed before. I nip at his top lip and pull away slightly to take it with me. He smiles against my mouth as he repeats in kind. We kiss like we bicker—trying to one-up each other.
My lips are buzzing against his. Kisses like a welder’s torch hitting metal. Our mouths clash and soothe with such ease, it’s as if we’ve been doing this all along. A fire lights in my belly thinking of all the time we’ve wasted not kissing since he walked through my front door. I’m going to make it up to you, body.
“I was thinking about how much I must’ve won you over…to be here now.” I kiss his earlobe, and he releases a staggered moan. “I thought you hated me.” I nip at his neck, and he takes a long breath in. “Chloe, you’re not at all who I thought you were. But fuck my opinion. I’m a judgmental ass.” As he says the word, he spreads his palms. “Yours is amazing, by the way.”
“But I never hated you. Not even close. You’re not the problem here.” With that confession, he moves to find my lips again, building until we’re back in the rhythm and feverish wanting of before—except now, there’s an additional layer of something left unspoken.
My shirt is doing nothing to separate my skin and his touch. He moves to cup my breast and bites my lip in sequence. I want him to carry me to his room. Without speaking, I think he knows this. He moves both hands to the back of my thighs, preparing to lift me.
WARREN: Helluva kiss…Definitely saved my birthday. CHLOE: Well, happy birthday.
CHLOE: Good night, Warren. WARREN: Good night, dove. CHLOE: Dove?
There’s no sense denying it was a great kiss—incredible even—but it will be just the one. That is final. Even if my vagina begs to differ. I’m in control here, dammit.
No amount of strikingly handsome men in this world could make me risk this little girl’s well-being. Even if they happen to live downstairs. Even if they happen to kiss like that.
Breathe, Chloe. Keep it simple. Get a bottle. Mix it. Sit on the couch. Feed Willow. The couch faces away from the kitchen—get there, and you’ll be safe. Safe from the view of his abs—sweet mercy.
