“Now I’m a drug?” he chuckles, deep and rough.
“You’re a mistake,” I correct him, hating the truth that’s there. I wish it was only ever a joke. It’s not though. The way my heart already hurts and he’s not even gone yet… he is a mistake and I know it. I just can’t say no to him.
“That’s the second time you said that tonight.”
Unless I’m mistaken, a hint of his cadence sounds wounded. When I roll over on the bed, still naked and my bare shoulders showing, the sheets roll with me but they don’t cover my upper half. A simper dances along my lips when his gaze lowers to my exposed breasts. Part of me wants to tease him, to tell him, I hope you like the view. Instead I hold my ground, saying something I’ve been thinking, every time he leaves me here with only a parting kiss and not even a date when he’ll be back.
I whisper, not hiding the pain in the truth, “How could this not be a mistake?” The rustling of the sheets mixes with my words as I lay myself down onto his hard chest, just wanting my skin to be touching his. As if the words I just said aren’t going to make him climb out right this second. Contrary to my initial thought, he stays perfectly still. Only for a fraction of a second and I stare at my pillow he’s laying against, the masculine scent of him filling my lungs. “You could have a girl like me in every town,” I try to joke, to make my voice teasing and force a smile to my lips, but I fail.
“I told you I don’t and I don’t like you saying that,” his voice is hard, but the way his hand comes down around the back of my head, smoothing my hair down is nothing but gentle. “I only have you.” Every breath he makes is deep and his chest rises and falls with my cheek on his hot skin. I turn my head ever so slightly, just to kiss his chest. Because a statement like that deserves a kiss at least.
I only have you. It sounds so romantic, but he has me for a weekend and that’s all. Then he’s gone and I get a call every once in a while, a text here or there, but we’re both busy, we live two different lives. The fact that I need to end this weighs on me heavily. This isn’t what I want. I don’t want a hookup every once in a while. Even if he says all the right things. Even if the smell of him on my pillows lulls me to sleep when he’s gone.
“Dean, I--”
“You what, Lysa? You miss me when I’m gone?” he questions me in a tone I don’t recognize and it forces me to look up at him. In the depths of his sharp blue gaze there’s something there I haven’t seen before. Something raw and wounded. “Cause I miss you too. I miss you so much that I don’t want to leave.”
In this moment, my heart twists. I swear everything stops because my heart can’t pump when it’s in a knot like it is. There aren’t words to fix everything. He asked me once to come with him, to take a vacation and just ride with him. I can’t leave the bar though. It’s the only piece of my family I have left. It’s all on my shoulders.
“I’m tired of missing you,” I confess and nearly choke on the words. “I’m too lonely to miss someone who chooses to be gone.” His expression doesn’t change but his grip on me tightens. I lean forward, needing to be closer to him, praying he understands I just hurt too much when he’s gone. My bed creaks with the shift in our weight. “I get it, I do. I swear I understand the family business and--”
Dean’s thumb stops me from speaking, pressing it against my lips as his other fingers grace my jaw and he cups my chin, shushing me. I’m not a girl to be shushed though. He leans his head down, in an effort to rest his forehead against mine, but I pull away. I need it to be over. I am addicted to him, but this is killing me.
I think I love you. And it kills me that you don’t choose me. It’s what I want to say to him. But the words tumble over each other at the back of my throat. My face is hot and my eyes prick with tears and I have to get away and get off this bed to put space between us.
“Lysa, baby, stop,” Dean’s quick to snatch my wrist, jumping out of the bed and pulling my body against his. He’s so much taller, and warmer, every inch of me wants to mold to his masculine form. With soft kisses in my hair, he says something… something that sounds like I love you, but it can’t be that.