Page 108 of Keep Me Close

I roll onto my side, taking her with me so she stays tucked against me, exactly where she belongs.

I’ve never joked around with a woman in bed.

Never just relaxed like this.

It’s nice.

Nicer than I imagined it could be.

I press a kiss to the top of her head as the moment settles around us. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this content in my life.

That should probably be a warning sign, but it isn’t. Because it has everything to do with Chey and how right she feels in my arms. How perfectly she fits into my life.

It brings me right back to the realization that I don’t want her to leave. The thought settles at the bottom of my gut like a boulder before I clear my throat, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Your audition’s tomorrow, right?”

Her body tenses. “Yeah, it is.”

Even though I suspect the answer, I ask anyway. “Are you nervous?”

What I want is for her to open up and talk to me about what she’s feeling.

She nods, continuing to stare at my chest instead of meeting my gaze. “Yeah.”

I brush my fingers along her cheek, my thumb sweeping across the delicate skin beneath her eye. “Don’t be. You’re going to nail it.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“Sure, I do. You’re so damn talented, Chey. More than you realize.”

Her gaze drops again, doubt flickering across her face. “I’m not sure if I’m talented enough for Broadway.” Her voice grows even quieter. “I’m a reality star, Knox.”

The way she says it has anger bubbling up inside me. At the fact that, at some point, she was made to believe that’s all she is.

“A lot of people see me as a joke,” she adds.

My jaw tightens. “No one sees you that way.”

She presses her lips together before whispering, “Yeah, they do.”

“No,” I say, firmer this time. “They don’t. Not the ones who matter.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, and there’s a rawness there now, emotion she rarely allows me to see.

“If I don’t get this part…” She swallows. “I won’t have any other choice but to return home and do the show.”

My stomach plummets.

Home.

LA.

Too fucking far away.

She looks past me toward the window. “I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t want people thinking I should be accessible twenty-four seven. Like my life belongs to the cameras and the public. To everyone but me.”

That admittance hits harder than anything else she’s said. To a degree, I understand what she’s talking about. I’ve experienced it with my own family and career.