Make Me Sin

47

A.J. says softly, “He loves you, Chloe. He’s actually showing remarkable restraint. If you were mine, I would’ve burned down the entire city by now to get you back.”

That takes my breath away. I look away, swallowing. “How do you know he loves me?”

“Princess. How could he not?”

His voice is so tender it makes tears well in my eyes. I can’t look at him. Instead I watch Nico and Eric through the windows, standing outside on the sidewalk together, talking. Nico looks over Eric’s shoulder, and catches my eye.

I see understanding on his face. Eric’s telling him everything. His gaze moves to A.J., and I have to close my eyes to block out the new emotion that crosses Nico’s face: fear.

Nico knows A.J. better than anyone does. And if he’s afraid for me, then I should be afraid for myself.

I feel my heart break, just a little.

“So if you were me, what would you do, A.J.?”

Silence.

“Because I’m having a really hard time deciphering this new puzzle that’s my life. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I’m pretty much at a loss.”

“Is he a good man?”

I open my eyes, and look at A.J. “I thought so. Before all this—”

“No. You know. Is he a good man? Overall. No one’s perfect, but you know him. Deep down, do you think he’s good?”

I whisper, “Yes.”

He slowly nods. “Then my answer is, you should marry him, and live your life.”

A knife twists in my heart. I hate it that my voice breaks when I speak. “Really? You think it’s okay to marry someone when you have feelings for someone else?”

A.J.’s eyes flash. His nostrils flare. He shakes his head, silently, and I don’t know if he’s saying yes or no, or just telling me not to be such an i***t.

Because I am. I so am. I’m standing here with a man who’s told me I make him want to die, and that I should go and marry Eric, and all I can think of is how badly I want him to put his arms around me, pull me against his chest, and kiss me.

A lone tear crests my lower lid and snakes down my cheek. With anguished eyes, A.J. watches it fall.

I whisper, “I’m not waiting up for you tonight. I won’t be watching from the window.”

A.J. nods, resigned.

“But the door will be unlocked.”

His brows pull together. He says hoarsely, “Chloe—”

“If you don’t come, that’s the end of it. I can’t do this anymore. If you don’t come I’m moving on with my life, and we’ll never speak of any of this again.”

Before he can reply, I turn and run to the other room, grab my purse, say good-bye to Kenji and the girls, and flee.

It’s midnight. I’m lying in bed, wide awake, staring at the same crack in the ceiling I’ve been staring at for the past three hours.

I’m a writhing ball of pent-up, white-hot, whirlwind emotions. Every nerve is stretched taut. Every time a car passes by on the street outside, I tense, holding my breath. Every little sound is amplified, until a fly buzzing against the windowpane sounds like a jackhammer. I don’t know how much longer I can lie here like this before I suffer a serious mental break, start screaming, and never stop.

Then I hear the front door open, and freeze.

The door softly closes. After a moment’s pause, heavy footsteps start down the hall. My frozen blood thaws, and begins to boil. I’m roasting from the inside out.

When A.J. reaches my open bedroom door, he stands just outside, peering in. There are no lights on in the apartment, but my eyes have adjusted to the dark, so I see how his eyes glitter. I see how brightly they burn.

Heart thundering, I sit up. The sheets puddle around my waist. I’m wearing no makeup and my usual bedtime outfit, boy shorts and a T-shirt, because the thought of waiting all dolled up in a nightie and being stood up was too much to bear.

But now he’s here. I have no idea what lies on the other side of this moment.

And I. Don’t. Care.

Without saying a word, I pull back the sheets on the other side of the bed. A.J. doesn’t hesitate a fraction of a second. He crosses the threshold, pulls the hoodie off over his head, drops it to the floor, shucks off his boots, and crawls into bed next to me.

As his arms come around me and his knees draw up behind mine, I release a breath so relieved it’s almost painful.

We lie together for a while in total silence. His breath is warm on the back of my neck. Against my shoulder blades, his heart beats fast and hard.

Into the soft darkness, I say, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.”

“I am. Because I know this isn’t easy for you.”

He presses his feverish forehead to my neck. “How do you see me so clearly, when no one else can?”

I think about it. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just looking closer than they are.”

I hear him swallow. His thumb moves back and forth over my wrist. With a fingertip, I trace the flower tattoo on his knuckle. There are several more on his other knuckles, but this is the one I find most fascinating. “What does this tattoo mean? The flower one with the initials inside the petals.”

The question is a risk, because I know how he hates questions. I’m not sure he’ll answer. But finally he does, his voice thick. “It’s a reminder.”