Fear of Falling(56)

Blaine let out an annoyed huff before turning for the kitchen. I went to swipe CJ’s empty glass when his hand reached out to grab my forearm.

“Hey,” he rasped. “You like him, don’t you?”

Reflexively, my eyes went to the direction of Blaine’s retreating back that was being swallowed by the crowd. I looked back at CJ and shrugged.

“And he likes you.” It wasn’t a question.

I pulled my arm away from his weak grasp and turned to refill his glass.

“So what’s wrong with you?”

I spun on my heel to face his sweaty, dazed face, my eyes narrowed in irritation. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” CJ replied, leaning forward. “What’s wrong with you? What’s your sob story? Blaine likes that type.”

I stepped towards him, a hand on my hip. “What type?”

“The broken ones. The ones with issues. The chicks that need to be saved and look at him like a knight in shining fucking armor.” He closed his eyes, and his mouth curled up on one corner before he laid his head on the bar. “The fucked up, damaged girls. Just like his mom. He needs that. All part of his Captain Save-a-Hoe complex. He needs to rescue them.” Then he was out like a light.

What the hell?

Before I could smack CJ across the back of the head to wake him so he could tell me more, Blaine appeared with a basket of food.

“Wake up, asshole. I’m calling you a cab,” he said, setting the burger and fries down next to his cousin.

Shaken by CJ’s words but not wanting to let it show, I plastered on my mask and gave Blaine a pensive smile. Questions ran through my head on an endless conveyer belt, each one leaving me more and more unsure of what I should do. But I needed answers. And the only way I could get them was to ask.

We finished our evening in comfortable silence, brushing against each other and stealing lustful gazes whenever we got the chance. I had to admit, I was still excited at the prospect of being alone with Blaine, despite what his motives could have been. I wanted him. So. Damn. Much. But something inside me needed more than just the physical release that I knew he could provide. A part of me that had been forced into self-preservation, blocking itself off from the love that it desperately needed to thrive. This…feeling… had nothing to do with my head. Even my lady bits had to take a backseat to the foreign emotions.

Yet CJ’s words continued to replay in my head, nagging my rationality until it gave into doubt. Could I really trust Blaine? Could he only be drawn to my scarred, fragile psyche, feeling some strange, deep-seated need to rescue me from my demons? I knew if that answer was yes that I wouldn’t survive it. I couldn’t come back from that type of pain. I had already lived through so much. I had already reached my limit of heartache for this lifetime. I wanted to open up to Blaine, I truly did. But I wouldn’t be some pet project. I wouldn’t be a pathetic charity case. And because I refused to be just another broken girl in need of fixing, I knew that I could never tell Blaine who I really was.

Blaine would soon realize that, no matter how hard he tried, I was beyond fixing. Because you can’t fix what was never really right in the first place.





I didn’t really know what to expect. I just knew that I needed to be with her. I needed her in my space, in my arms. I needed to know that she was safe for the night. It was damn pathetic, but it was my truth. And the closer we were to approaching that truth, her following behind me in her Nissan Sentra, the stronger that need grew.

I needed to have Kami tonight.

Every part of my body was screaming for her. And the way she kissed me just hours before, told me everything that I needed to know. The way her nipples hardened instantly against my chest. The way she shivered when my fingers found that patch of exposed skin just above the waist of her low-rise jeans. The way she moaned into my mouth whenever I sucked her tongue. Oh yeah, Kami needed me too.

But I wanted to do this right. I needed to give her a reason to trust me, to never doubt me. I needed her to trust me with her heart, as well as her body. And something told me that that would be harder than trying to get CJ to go 24 hours without talking about his junk and all the sordid shit he does with it.

We pulled up to my house, parking side by side in the driveway. It was late/early and pitch-black out, but she still seemed to appraise the yard and outdoor furnishings intently.

“You live in a house?” she asked, obviously surprised. She ran her fingers over the wicker chair on the porch.

“Yeah?” I didn’t know why it sounded more like a question. For some reason, her approval seemed more crucial than ever. Of course, I wanted to impress her, but it was more than that. I wanted her to feel comfortable here. I wanted her to be at home in my place, maybe even enough to call it her own…