Page 41 of Torn
“I wish you weren’t who you are…,”she’d whispered.
We laughed at it awkwardly, trying to make something funny that wasn’t, and then I made an equally riddling joke about it before I forced myself to get away from her, running to the nearest good-looking woman at the party, like that was going to cover up what just happened.
I think I knew what Kenzi was trying to say with her wish, though, and I don’t like it.
That’s a fucking lie. I like it a lot.
I’m pretty sure she’s got a crush on me. Lots of Tessie’s friends flirted with me when they were in high school. They giggled at me, said crazy things to me, paraded around trying to make me notice them, and then giggled some more. It’s the same thing and normal for girls her age.That’s all it is.
My own feelings, however, are completely not normal. In any way. I shouldn’t be flirting back with her. Or feeling all fuckinggiddy stupid over her hat on my head. But I do. I might never take this thing off.
“I’d love to go for a ride on your bike someday,” Heather is saying. I’ve known her for a while, and she says this every time we talk, even though I continue to never call her.
“Sure… when I get a free day, we’ll go for a ride.” I say the lie well. It sounds legit.
It’s my canned reply when a woman thinks she’s just going to hop on the back of my ride like I’m some kind of pony. I like to ride alone. If I ever stick a woman on the back of my bike, there’s a good reason for her to be back there.
Kenzi’s laugh floats across the yard, even over the acoustic music Asher and his friends are playing. I can tell she likes Sailor, and judging from the attention he’s giving her, he feels the same, which is no surprise. I’m not normally the jealous type, but I can feel a shade of green coming over me.
Sailor is me twelve years ago. A young, good-looking musician on the cusp of a kick-ass music career. I’ve heard him play, and he’s good. His riffs are fast, furious, and flawless.Like I once was.
Now my fingers fly over wrenches. And the occasional text message.
What I really want and need is my fingers on the warm flesh of a woman. This self-imposed celibacy is making me question my own sanity. Shutting out Kenzi’s laughter, I focus on Heather like I should be doing. She’s telling me she’s a fitness instructor now, and it shows. Her body is tight, lean, and lacking the curves I prefer, but she’s very easy on the eyes and hasn’t shown any signs of being a psycho freak yet. Always a plus.
I’m not surprised when she reaches toward me and lifts my shirt, her eyes widening in appreciation as she takes in my abs. When you have lots of muscles and ink and hair that’s longerthan the norm, people think they can touch you. Pet you. Like it’s okay.
“Wow, Toren. You’ve been hitting the gym hard. I noticed a difference as soon as I saw you tonight. Are you fighting again?”
Raising my beer to my mouth, I shake my head before taking a drink. “No, I’m done with that. Just been working out a lot.”
She nods and licks her glossy lips. “It shows. Abs and eyes are my favorite parts of a man.”
I grin at her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I hope you do.” Her smile is sexy and inviting, and I wonder how I always seem to get here. I only wanted a conversation.
I consider taking her home and breaking my sexual leave of absence. A long night with her would put me out of this self-imposed misery and maybe I’ll stop reading nonexistent signs from my best friend’s seventeen-year-old daughter.
Heather runs her finger along the waistband of my jeans, her fingernail grazing over my skin. “I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow,” she hints.
My stomach muscles twitch under her touch, begging for more. My body isn’t exactly on the same page as my brain.
“Is that right?”
Her hand slides a bit farther into my pants. “I’ll do all the work,” she coos. “You can just lie there and enjoy the ride.”
I grab her hand and pull it out of my jeans. “That’s not how I like it, sweetheart.”
“Howdoyou like it?”
“Not easy.”
I’m not sure if she gets the double meaning of my answer, but she tries one more time.
“I don’t mind it rough.”
Most women say that without having any idea what they’reasking for. Cheap sheets are rough. An unpaved road is rough. A slap on the ass, some handcuffs, a hard pounding—that’s not rough. That’s fun.