So close.
A whisper from ruining both of us.
Then I stop.
Her eyes open, confused and dark.
“This part still pretend?” I ask.
The question lands between our mouths.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
I close my eyes.
Painfully.
Perfectly.
“Then we wait until you do.”
For a second, she doesn’t move.
Then her forehead drops against my chest.
Not a kiss.
Not surrender.
Something smaller and harder.
Trust, maybe.
Or the first terrible piece of it.
I keep my hand at her waist and my body still, while everything in me wants to pull her closer and teach every bad memory in her mouth my name.
Inside the Fire Pit, Cornbread yells at someone, “I said that bourbon is for sipping, not drowning your daddy issues.”
Amelia laughs against my chest.
I look up at the dark Kentucky sky over the alley and wonder what the hell Widowmaker brought me to tonight.
A fake woman.
A real want.
And a story loud enough now that all of Hell is going to hear it.
Chapter Nine
Amelia
I hold on differently on the ride back.
I know I do.