Page 66 of Bound By Shame

“Oh.”

He rolls onto his side, crushing a pillow with his bicep.I wanna be in bicep jail.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I’d rather you not.”

He levels a stern look at me. It’s sexy. I hate it.

“Fine.”

“Do you…” Pink tints the tops of his cheeks. Is he…blushing? He watches me pinch the sheets and clears his throat. “Do you remember… showering?”

It’s a fever dream in shades of yellow and orange.

I nod.

He nods too.

“You said some things.”

I should’ve left. “If I made you uncomfortable?—”

His hand suddenly covers mine. “You didn’t.” I look up. Those eyes are so damn earnest. His gaze drops to our hands. “I’m just… worried about you.”

My stomach sinks. He doesn’tlikeme. Hepitiesme.

“Of course you are,” I scoff and start to pull away.

His fingers wrap around my wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m not on drugs, so you can save the intervention speech.”

I yank my arm. It’s useless.

He arches a brow. “I never said you were.”

“You asked me what I took last night. I remember that much.”

He blows out an exasperated breath. “Would you stop being so difficult and lay down?”

I eye him skeptically. His cross pendant glints at me like a middle finger— a stark contrast to the pleading look in his eyes. After an interminably long minute, I reluctantly flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

His grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go.

My stupid heart skips a beat.

I’m fucking insufferable even to myself.

“I have to go to a fundraiser tonight,” he says. Immediately, I’m doing mental gymnastics again. There’s a deadline looming over my head. A countdown to madness.

“Cool. And?”

Can he hear the fear beneath my sass? Because I sure as fuck can.

“And.” His pointer finger traces a circle around my knuckle. “I want you to text me while I’m there.”

Oh shit. Those are definitely butterflies in my stomach. I’m fucked, I’m fucked, I’mfucked.