Page 21 of Torn
“I did,” I say, following him to his bedroom. “But I’d rather sleep in yours like I did when I slept here when I was little. It makes me feel cozy.”
He’s just shaking his head at me as he pulls a big black T-shirt out of his dresser and hands it to me without looking at me.
“Thank you.”
Once behind the closed door of the guest room, I let out a deep, shaky breath. I have no idea what just happened, but it was definitely something new. I felt it. And I’m pretty sure he did, too.
I think all relationships start with an invisible line, and even though we can’t see it, we all know it’s there because we can feel it. We respect that line because it keeps the bounds of the relationship intact. The line guides us within our relationships and dictates who is our friend, who is our family, who is our lover, who is someone we can or can’t trust. The line between Tor and me is somewhat unique, because it crisscrosses between family and friend, and just now it blurred into something I can’t quite describe. I’m not sure where our line is anymore, or if I even want a line at all.
I quickly change out of my prom dress, into Tor’s T-shirt, and climb into the bed I’ve slept in many times before. The purple comforter with a big gothic sugar skull on it that Tor bought for me a few years ago is still on the bed and its softness and familiarity calm me. He said he wanted me to have something girly, but cool, here. His house has always been like a second home to me and I stayed here a lot when my parents were on tour. Since Tor lives closer to my dad than my grandparents do, it wasn’t unusual for me to stay with him so he could bring me to school every day. For the past two years, I’ve come here twice a week to clean and do his laundry because he usually doesn’t have time to do it himself and he pays me fifty dollars a week, which I stash away for when I can have my own car. Tonight, though, I don’t really feel like I’m staying over at my father’s best friend’s house. Something feels different.
How can one little moment, one tiny touch, one quickening breath change so much?
It didn’t.
I’m being ridiculous and hypersensitive because Jason was nasty to me. I wanted to feel pretty—maybe even wanted and cared about—tonight and when that didn’t happen, I must have just projected that onto poor Toren. No wonder he couldn’t wait to make me go to bed.
And telling him I want to put him in a box!Gawd.So awkward and borderline psychotic.
Cringing at myself, I grab my phone from the nightstand to see ten text messages. Eight are from Chloe and two are from Jason. All ten asking if I’m okay and where the hell am I? I’m surprised Jason even bothered after the way he treated me.
I text them both that I’m home and put the phone back so I can bury myself under the comforter, where I toss and turn. It’s 4:00 a.m. and I should be exhausted, but I can’t get my mind to turn off and let me sleep. It keeps shifting back to Tor and how his hand felt on my cheek, and how warm his chest felt against my hands through his thin shirt. When our bodies leaned against each other for those few moments, it was like a silentclickinto place. It’s exactly the type of feeling I read about in all my romance novels. This proves that crazy butterfly moment really does exist after all, and it’s not a myth.
The only problem is, it’s all wrong. Very wrong.
Toren can’t make me feel that way. He’s old. Okay, notold, but way older than me. He’s practically family. He freakin’ babysat me. He’s been to all my birthday parties and all my school events. He’s taken care of me when I was sick. He taught me how to ride a bicycle. He held me when I cried for my mom. He knows all my secrets and dreams. He’s…
… everything.
I have no idea when I finally fell asleep, but I’m woken up by the scent of coffee. The clock on the wall reads 7:00 a.m.Great.Not getting enough sleep is going to make me cranky all day.
After using the restroom and making sure I look somewhat presentable, I follow the aroma to the kitchen to find Tor standing at the kitchen window, wearing old faded jeans and no shirt. I’m surprised to see his entire back covered in tattoos now, because he didn’t have all those last summer when he was in our pool. That funny feeling returns to my chest and stomach as my eyes rake over not just the new artwork, but also the muscles and definition beneath the ink. When did Tor get so hot? Have I been living under a rock?
“Hi…,” I finally say, stepping farther into the kitchen.
He turns with a look of surprise, and I notice how his eyes quickly take in that I’m still wearing his shirt, which comes down to my thighs. I’ve dressed like this a hundred times in front of him and never felt self-conscious, but today I do. My legs feel incredibly naked and I’m so glad I shaved them yesterday before the prom.
“Hey, I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”
“The smell of the coffee woke me up.” If coffee were a person, it would be my best friend. I’m definitely addicted in a bad way.
“You want some? You look pretty tired.” He steps over to the counter and grabs the coffeepot, pouring some into a mug before I have a chance to answer. “I don’t have any of that caramel milk stuff you like, though.”
“That’s okay; I’ll drink it with regular milk.”
“And about twenty sugars?” He flashes me a teasing grin as he adds milk and sugar just the way I like it and then hands it to me.
“Thanks. Are you working today?”
He steps closer to me and grabs my hand, his eyes twinkling with that sparkling diamond glint he sometimes gets, and pulls his hair tie off my wrist.
My heart does an odd clench. “You’re taking it back?” I ask.
“I’m borrowing it.”
“Oh. Okay…” He’s never taken back anything I’ve lifted off him before. Maybe he’s finally fed up with my silly little game. I remind myself that I’m not five anymore, and collecting items from him is probably immensely annoying and possibly perceived as stealing and not cute.
“Hey, don’t look all wounded, Kenz. It’s the last one I have. I’ll pick some up today and you can have this one back. I promise.”