Show Me How
Page 33
“I’ve never been haunted by a girl the way you haunt me, Charlie Easton. It wasn’t because I hadn’t had you, or because I knew I shouldn’t. That knowledge and everything I felt scared the shit out of me, and I knew I had to do something to put an end to it. So, yes, I fucked up. I will apologize forever if I have to, but know that I’ve never hated myself, or how I am, more than I did that day. And you? All I saw was you, more than ever.”
One of his hands slowly fell from the wall back to my cheek, and he pulled back to look into my eyes. Indecision, fear, and need swirled in their light depths.
“Hurting you has killed me. Unaware . . . yeah? I get it now. Maybe with everyone else, but I’ve never been more aware of anything or anyone.”
My body sagged against the wall when he pushed away, and after another second, he turned and stepped away.
I needed to let him go.
Step.
A guy like Deacon Carver would only do what Ben had done, and more.
Step.
But my body was screaming in protest the loss of his touch, and I’d only lost it seconds ago.
Step step.
I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and dropped my head to stare unseeing at the floor.
Step.
I pushed down all of my fears—of rejection, of getting my heart broken, of simply speaking my mind on a whim, and said, “This is usually the part of the book where the hero kisses the girl.”
Silence.
“I don’t know how to be that hero, Charlie Girl.”
I slowly lifted my head and found Deacon facing me. Chest moving with each exaggerated breath, hands slightly flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“If you want me to be that guy, I would only hurt you more.” But even as he spoke the words, he took a couple steps back toward me. “I can’t compete with whatever it is you read.”
If only he knew that he wasn’t so different.
I lifted a shoulder. “This is also a house of superheroes.”
Deacon smirked. The slant of his lips challenged and warned and promised.
My stomach warmed at the sight, my body was already buzzing with anticipation.
“Now that I can compete with.”
He ate up the distance in two steps, and pulled me from the wall as his mouth fell onto mine.
One of his hands pressed against the small of my back, molding our bodies closer and closer, the other curled around my neck again. Cradling and guiding, strength and tenderness.
I clung to his shirt as our mouths moved in perfect sync, trying to hold on to this kiss that was everything.
Everything I’d dreamed of.
Everything I’d craved.
Everything I’d never had.
Because Deacon was holding me like he was afraid of letting me go, and I wasn’t trying to hold him closer, afraid he would.
His thumb pushed against my jaw to tilt my head back farther, and his tongue hesitantly brushed against the seam of my lips. Asking. Begging. Creating chaos within my body.
My mouth opened with an inhale, and a soft moan slid up my throat when his tongue met mine in a perfect dance. The push and pull, the desperation and need, all in a space that felt as though time would stand still at any moment.
The kiss slowed, Deacon’s lips moved across my jaw and down my neck until his mouth was at my ear. “If I don’t stop myself now, I’m taking you to the couch and laying you down, and I know I won’t want to stop then.” His teeth grazed the skin just below my ear when he finished, and a growl rumbled in his chest when a shiver moved down my spine. “Christ, Charlie.”
I continued to stare at his chest as I wondered what would happen now that the kiss was over. My world felt like it was tilted, just waiting to find out which way it was supposed to turn next. That kiss had been more than I ever expected it could be, but this was still Deacon.
He could still leave.
I couldn’t figure out if I needed to guard myself and my emotions, or allow myself to stay in this surreal moment for a little longer.
“What now?” I asked softly.
Deacon pulled away from me, his light brown stare bouncing all over my face and staying on my lips longer and longer each time, as his eyes darkened with heat. Without warning, he pressed a quick, rough kiss to my mouth, then spoke against my lips. “Now . . . I take you on a date to your kitchen table, and hope like hell that you give superheroes third chances.”
Chapter Thirteen
Deacon
June 15, 2016
KNOX AND GRAHAM’S loud voices met me as soon as I set foot inside the house that night, and, for a second, it felt like it always had. Back before Knox had found Harlow again, and married her. Back before I would have done anything to make Charlie Easton mine—back before I wanted to make any girl mine, period. Back before I had to constantly talk myself down from punching one of my best friends.
I curled my arm around Harlow’s neck, and pulled her in so I could kiss the top of her head when I found her walking out of the kitchen. “Hey, Warrior.”
Harlow narrowed her eyes suspiciously when she pulled away, and looked me over quickly. “That was one of the quietest, most unenthusiastic greetings I’ve ever received from you. You okay, Deacon?”
I had no fucking clue.
Yes, yes I was. Because I’d just spent the past few hours with Charlie. Because I’d kissed the hell out of that mouth and held her as close as I could stand before I gave in to a need I knew she wasn’t ready for yet.
But I still didn’t know what I was doing. I had never been this guy before, and, again, I couldn’t be the kind of guy she wanted. I wasn’t some hero in one of those books she hid behind.
As I told Words, I wasn’t a white knight. I didn’t sweep girls off their feet.
After a few hours, I already felt like I was stumbling around, fucking terrified for when I hurt Charlie again.
Graham laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the house and pulling me from my thoughts only to remind me of what I’d walked in on earlier that night.
I forced a quick smile in Harlow’s direction. “Yep. Just gotta take care of some stuff.”
I followed her into the living room where Knox and Graham were sitting on the couches, and clapped Knox’s back as I passed him to sit in the only chair.
“Where’ve you been?” Graham asked with a sly grin.
One of my eyebrows ticked up in response, and I stared at him like he should already know the answer. “Charlie’s.”
One of his hands slowly fell from the wall back to my cheek, and he pulled back to look into my eyes. Indecision, fear, and need swirled in their light depths.
“Hurting you has killed me. Unaware . . . yeah? I get it now. Maybe with everyone else, but I’ve never been more aware of anything or anyone.”
My body sagged against the wall when he pushed away, and after another second, he turned and stepped away.
I needed to let him go.
Step.
A guy like Deacon Carver would only do what Ben had done, and more.
Step.
But my body was screaming in protest the loss of his touch, and I’d only lost it seconds ago.
Step step.
I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and dropped my head to stare unseeing at the floor.
Step.
I pushed down all of my fears—of rejection, of getting my heart broken, of simply speaking my mind on a whim, and said, “This is usually the part of the book where the hero kisses the girl.”
Silence.
“I don’t know how to be that hero, Charlie Girl.”
I slowly lifted my head and found Deacon facing me. Chest moving with each exaggerated breath, hands slightly flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“If you want me to be that guy, I would only hurt you more.” But even as he spoke the words, he took a couple steps back toward me. “I can’t compete with whatever it is you read.”
If only he knew that he wasn’t so different.
I lifted a shoulder. “This is also a house of superheroes.”
Deacon smirked. The slant of his lips challenged and warned and promised.
My stomach warmed at the sight, my body was already buzzing with anticipation.
“Now that I can compete with.”
He ate up the distance in two steps, and pulled me from the wall as his mouth fell onto mine.
One of his hands pressed against the small of my back, molding our bodies closer and closer, the other curled around my neck again. Cradling and guiding, strength and tenderness.
I clung to his shirt as our mouths moved in perfect sync, trying to hold on to this kiss that was everything.
Everything I’d dreamed of.
Everything I’d craved.
Everything I’d never had.
Because Deacon was holding me like he was afraid of letting me go, and I wasn’t trying to hold him closer, afraid he would.
His thumb pushed against my jaw to tilt my head back farther, and his tongue hesitantly brushed against the seam of my lips. Asking. Begging. Creating chaos within my body.
My mouth opened with an inhale, and a soft moan slid up my throat when his tongue met mine in a perfect dance. The push and pull, the desperation and need, all in a space that felt as though time would stand still at any moment.
The kiss slowed, Deacon’s lips moved across my jaw and down my neck until his mouth was at my ear. “If I don’t stop myself now, I’m taking you to the couch and laying you down, and I know I won’t want to stop then.” His teeth grazed the skin just below my ear when he finished, and a growl rumbled in his chest when a shiver moved down my spine. “Christ, Charlie.”
I continued to stare at his chest as I wondered what would happen now that the kiss was over. My world felt like it was tilted, just waiting to find out which way it was supposed to turn next. That kiss had been more than I ever expected it could be, but this was still Deacon.
He could still leave.
I couldn’t figure out if I needed to guard myself and my emotions, or allow myself to stay in this surreal moment for a little longer.
“What now?” I asked softly.
Deacon pulled away from me, his light brown stare bouncing all over my face and staying on my lips longer and longer each time, as his eyes darkened with heat. Without warning, he pressed a quick, rough kiss to my mouth, then spoke against my lips. “Now . . . I take you on a date to your kitchen table, and hope like hell that you give superheroes third chances.”
Chapter Thirteen
Deacon
June 15, 2016
KNOX AND GRAHAM’S loud voices met me as soon as I set foot inside the house that night, and, for a second, it felt like it always had. Back before Knox had found Harlow again, and married her. Back before I would have done anything to make Charlie Easton mine—back before I wanted to make any girl mine, period. Back before I had to constantly talk myself down from punching one of my best friends.
I curled my arm around Harlow’s neck, and pulled her in so I could kiss the top of her head when I found her walking out of the kitchen. “Hey, Warrior.”
Harlow narrowed her eyes suspiciously when she pulled away, and looked me over quickly. “That was one of the quietest, most unenthusiastic greetings I’ve ever received from you. You okay, Deacon?”
I had no fucking clue.
Yes, yes I was. Because I’d just spent the past few hours with Charlie. Because I’d kissed the hell out of that mouth and held her as close as I could stand before I gave in to a need I knew she wasn’t ready for yet.
But I still didn’t know what I was doing. I had never been this guy before, and, again, I couldn’t be the kind of guy she wanted. I wasn’t some hero in one of those books she hid behind.
As I told Words, I wasn’t a white knight. I didn’t sweep girls off their feet.
After a few hours, I already felt like I was stumbling around, fucking terrified for when I hurt Charlie again.
Graham laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the house and pulling me from my thoughts only to remind me of what I’d walked in on earlier that night.
I forced a quick smile in Harlow’s direction. “Yep. Just gotta take care of some stuff.”
I followed her into the living room where Knox and Graham were sitting on the couches, and clapped Knox’s back as I passed him to sit in the only chair.
“Where’ve you been?” Graham asked with a sly grin.
One of my eyebrows ticked up in response, and I stared at him like he should already know the answer. “Charlie’s.”
