Page 91 of Cross Checked
“Keep it.”
“That was already the plan.”
His smile softened in a way that made my chest ache more than the heat had. “Text me in the morning?”
“We’re literally going to see each other tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Greedy.”
“With you?” His eyes held mine through the screen. “Yeah.”
My breath caught again, softer this time.
Dangerous. Dangerous. Dangerous.
But I did it anyway.
“Goodnight, Cade,” I whispered.
“Goodnight, Pip.”
I ended the call before I could say something even stupider, then lay back against my pillows while rain whispered against the glass and my heart slowly tried to remember how to beat normally.
13
Bliss
Sunday mornings in the apartment always felt softer somehow. Quieter. Like the entire building exhaled after Saturday night chaos finally burned itself out.
Charm had left Friday evening for Crystal Falls with whatever new man currently had her giggling and kicking her feet, which meant the apartment was missing at least seventy percent of its normal volume. Aura had already gone to church with her family before the sun fully came up because every Sunday in the Clarke household involved either Baptist potlucks or Pentecostal emotional warfare.
Right now though, none of that held my attention for longer than a few seconds because Cade’s name sat open across my phone screen like a personal threat to my emotional stability.
Even looking at the thread made my stomach tighten stupidly. I blamed hormones and possible sleep deprivation.
Or Satan.
Probably Satan.
Sunlight pushed weakly through the blinds in thin pale stripes, cutting across my comforter, my abandoned laptop, the hoodie I had slept in for maybe three hours, and the phone I kept pretending not to look at like it wasn’t a live grenade sitting in my hand. My room still smelled like cold rain, vanilla lotion, and Cade’s laundry detergent, which was deeply unfair because I had already made enough terrible decisions in that hoodie and did not need it participating in the aftermath.
I lay there on my back staring at the ceiling fan, one arm thrown over my eyes, trying to convince myself that last night had been a one-time lapse in judgment caused by stress,hormones, and the fact that Cade knew how to use his voice like a weapon.
That excuse lasted approximately six seconds.
Because it had not been a lapse. That was the problem. I was an active, greedy little participant.
I had wanted it. I had chosen it. I had stayed on that call, followed his voice, both of us coming for each other, and fallen asleep afterward with my whole body still humming from the knowledge that I had not felt ashamed the way I expected to.
Embarrassed, yes. Mortified, absolutely. Ready to move to another state and start a new life under a fake name every time I remembered the sound I made when he came? Also yes.
But not ashamed.
And that scared me more than everything else.
Wanting Cade was supposed to feel like betraying myself. It was supposed to set off every alarm I had spent years building inside my chest. Hockey player. Attention. Ego. Temporary girl. Pretty words. Bad choices. The same old story wearing a different face and better shoulders. I had promised myself I would never become the girl orbiting an athlete’s life while he got worshipped in every room and cheated in whatever zip code had the easiest access. I had promised myself I would never be naïve enough to believe charm meant safety or intensity meant love.
