Home > Charged (Saints of Denver #2)(31)

Charged (Saints of Denver #2)(31)
Author: Jay Crownover

I nodded absently and clasped my hands nervously together in front of me. “Ex-boyfriend.” I blurted it out automatically and saw his mouth tighten in response.

“Let your dad know what’s going on, Avett. I don’t like this. It doesn’t feel right. And with you involved in this case still …” He shook his head and some of his blond hair fell into his eyes. I wanted to reach up and push it off his forehead so badly that my fingers were twitching. “There is a lot of room for this to go bad on you.”

I nodded again, and moved my hands to my back pockets so that I wouldn’t reach for that wayward strand of hair and make a fool out of myself.

“I’ll tell him. Things with him and my mom …” I lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “They’re complicated and I don’t like to intrude on their time together.”

He frowned at me and I noticed his pale gaze was locked on the way my pose pushed my chest up and out. All I had on under the overalls was a cutoff wife-beater that rested well above my navel. In fact, if I turned to the side, there was a clear shot of the hot-pink hipster panties I had put on after my shower this morning. It was an awesome outfit for watching Netflix and eating Jimmy John’s while lounging around the house alone, not so much for trying to converse like a grown-up with a man that equally enticed and enraged me.

“They’re both your parents. I’m sure your mom would understand that your dad needs to be here if something suspicious is going on.”

Oh, she would understand, all right. She would understand that my dad was leaving her to rescue me, yet again, because I could never seem to do it myself and it would shove the wedge between us even farther apart.

I cleared my throat nervously. “She would understand, but my mom and I aren’t exactly on the best terms and we haven’t been for a while. I don’t need to give her any more reason to hate me.”

He blinked at me and lifted his hands to shove that rebellious piece of hair—I was obsessed—back in line with the rest of the golden strands. When he raised his arms, the hem of his T-shirt hiked up and I was treated to the visual of tight abs and a concave V that cut hard and ripped between his hips. The man was built, and picturing what he would look like out of his fancy duds and wrapped in nothing but his sheets got a whole lot easier. He was tall and lean with wide shoulders that tapered into a trim waist, and now that I knew he was rippling with ropy and taut muscle underneath his hands-off persona, I wanted nothing more than to be totally hands-on.

“Your mom doesn’t hate you. I sat next to her at your arraignment and listened to her cry over you.” He lifted an eyebrow at me and crossed his arms over his chest. I felt my eyes widen and lock on the way the muscles in his biceps bulged and flexed in the new position. “I told my folks I was joining the Army and I wouldn’t see them for at least four years. Neither one of them shed a tear, so I know for a fact that, regardless of what you think, what your mom feels for you isn’t hate.” His tone was harsh as he dropped the surprisingly personal tidbit like a bomb at my feet.

“Your parents weren’t worried about what might happen to you? They weren’t sad to see you go, not knowing when they would see you again?” That seemed impossible to me. My mom often acted fed up and had no problem showing her frustration with me, but she was always there; she always worried about my well-being. I knew she wanted better for me, and I couldn’t get my head around Quaid having parents that weren’t insanely proud of everything he had accomplished, or the man he had become, since enlisting.

“They were mad I was leaving. When I enlisted, they viewed it as a disappointment and a betrayal to everything they taught me and believed in. I know what it looks like when a parent turns their back on you, Avett, and that isn’t what you’re dealing with when it comes to your mom.”

I sucked in a breath at his stark honesty and told myself it would be entirely inappropriate to throw myself at him. He wasn’t the tree in the backyard that I know knew enough not to climb, but something told me if I fell because of him, it would do a lot more damage than a broken arm.

“I’ve never been very good at doing the right thing, Quaid. Years and years of my dad having to pick up the pieces, of him being the one that rode to the rescue …” I shook my head at him and gave him a rueful grin. “It took its toll on my mom, not only because I was always into something I shouldn’t be, but because my dad never hesitated to dive in after me. I knew I was putting strain on their relationship, knew things were tense and that she was unhappy, but it never stopped me from screwing up. That makes me a pretty awful person, no matter how you look at it, Counselor. The evidence is compelling.”

He continued to watch me. Then he was walking towards me and I was walking backwards as he advanced. We kept going until my back was pressed up against the hard wood of the front door and he was all I could see in front of me. He put an arm above my head and I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. He was a couple inches away from being pressed fully against me, but every single part of my body felt like it was straining to close that gap. My nipples peaked hard and pointed directly at him; every single inch of my skin pebbled up and practically vibrated as he hovered out of reach.

“The evidence is circumstantial and prejudiced. You say you don’t do the right thing, that you can’t stop even though you know your actions are hurting the people around you, and hurting yourself time and time again. So my question to the defendant is … why? Why do you keep making the wrong choice and keeping hurting yourself and others? What’s the motive?” His breath whispered out and danced across my lips.

   
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