Chapter 9

NINE

Holy fucking shit, I’m dying.

I lie very still and keep my eyes aimed at the ceiling. I tried to move them earlier, and it felt like somebody was performing brain surgery on me without the courtesy of administering anesthesia first.

My mouth feels like something crawled in there and died and is now rapidly decomposing.

This room has way too much light in it.

I try to swallow, but there’s nothing to swallow, unless I’m going to give in to the urge and vomit right here and now. And now I’m thinking about the possibility of having to force my own puke back down, which does not help the nausea situation one bit.

“Oh, this is so not worth it,” I mutter to the ceiling.

Somebody snorts somewhere on my left. I slowly turn my head and find Sutton standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, drinking something from a mug.

Well. Somebody looks chipper.

He’s dressed in a pair of navy pants and a tight black T-shirt, and he looks obscenely happy for a person who threw back just as many drinks as I did last night.

Life really, truly isn’t fair.

I get it now.

“Changing your mind about drinking?” Sutton eyes me with badly disguised entertainment.

I use up most of my willpower to slowly push myself into a sitting position, and then I use whatever scraps are left on not vomiting. Somehow, I succeed. For now. I wouldn’t put it past myself to change my stance on that in the near future.

I stare straight ahead and try not to move my head too much.

“Why did nobody warn me?” I ask.

Sutton takes a sip of whatever he’s drinking and steps into the room. “About hangovers? I can’t speak for others, but I personally was under the impression it was common knowledge.”

“You’re absolutely no help,” I mutter.

He just laughs, goes to the dresser by the wall, pulls open a drawer, and comes back to me, holding out a set of clothes.

“Go take a shower and get changed. There’s a toothbrush on the counter. You’ll feel better then.”

I send him a pathetic look. “Promise?”

“Yes. Go. I’ll make you something to eat in the meantime.”

I get up and clutch the T-shirt and the sweats he handed me. Yeah, T-shirt. That’s…

“Hey,” I say, and he turns around in the doorway and sends me a questioning look. I fidget with the hem of the shirt. “Do you have anything with long sleeves?”

He cocks his head to the side for a moment, then he simply nods and goes and hands me a sweatshirt.

“Thanks,” I say. “I get cold easily. I’d blame the hangover, but it’s just always been a thing, you know?”

It’s like when liars give way too much information and ramble on and on instead of just shutting the hell up.

Sutton sends me a long look before he nods.

“No problem.” He gives me a small smile then leaves the room.

I stare after him for another moment before I go to the bathroom to take that shower.

Sutton’s right. I do feel better after the shower. Not great, but better. My head still throbs like a bitch, and my mouth has that cottony dryness to it, but the nausea has subsided, so that’s a real win in my book.

I fold my clothes and put them on the edge of the dresser before I venture out of the bedroom. I follow the noise until it leads me to the open-plan living room. Sutton’s in the kitchen nook, his back toward me.

He’s propped his phone on a speaker. Some band I don’t know is playing softly in the background. That strange feeling of intimacy is back. It’s most likely misplaced. He probably has people over all the time, so why I’m suddenly imagining that I’m seeing him differently than other people usually do is anybody’s guess.

Even so, I stand silently and watch.

I’m less nervous than I was yesterday. I’ve already made my move, so the hardest part is over. I don’t have to tell him I want to sleep with him for the first time ever again, because I’ve already done it. He already knows. Whatever happens next, however it all plays out, I’ve already done the most challenging bit, so all in all, I’m pretty calm and sure by now.

He wanted me. Yeah, sure, he put a stop to us actually doing anything, but that wasn’t because he wasn’t interested in what I was offering. It was just his inconvenient streak of decency. It was pointless, but I suppose I can’t really complain about him wanting to do the right thing.

It doesn’t even bother me that he clearly thinks I’ll change my mind or have forgotten about the whole thing by now.

I haven’t.

And I knew exactly what I was doing and what I want.

I want to sleep with him.

I want to sleep with him because—and it sounds stupid as fuck and really not like me—I trust him.

He turns around and when he finds me looking at him, he raises his brow at me.

“So?” he asks. “Feel better?”

“Somewhat more human.” I take a seat at the counter.

He places a glass of water in front of me and follows that with a sandwich. The thought of food does not appeal in the least, so I gingerly lift the bread slice on top and inspect the contents. There are the usual suspects like ham and cheese, but most of it seems to be different vegetables and green stuff. I drop the bread and take a fortifying breath.

Sutton’s lips twitch. “It’s good for you.”

“So is going to the dentist, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to brace myself.”

I stare at the sandwich some more before I pick it up and take a bite. I chew thoughtfully and eventually polish off the rest of it.

“He survives,” Sutton says.

“Against all odds.”

He leans his ass against the counter and watches me silently while I nurse my water.

“So… what do you have planned for today?” I ask.

He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Fuck around until I find something that interests me. Same as every day.”

“Talking about fucking around.” My fingers tighten around the glass for a moment. “I’m available.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Or maybe it just feels like an eternity because I don’t know what he’s thinking right now. His expression is unreadable, even if his eyes stay on me.

Eventually, fed up with the silence, I shrug. “I’m just saying. If you don’t have anything better to do… do me.”

He still doesn’t say anything, so I let out an exasperated huff of breath.

“Look, it’s not that difficult. I’m asking you to have sex with me. While one hundred percent sober. Now all you have to do is give me an answer.”

He shakes his head and clears his throat, brow furrowing slightly.

“I’m just… I guess I’m just trying to figure out where you’re going with this? As in… What’s your goal here? Because I gotta tell you, I really can’t figure out the sudden change of heart.”

I roll my eyes. “The goal is to have sex. Simple as that.”

He’s shaking his head again before I’ve even stopped talking. “No. No. It’s really not. Did you lose a bet?”

“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “There’s no bet. I just want you to fuck me. You said you wanted to almost the minute we met. I’m giving you the go-ahead now.” I wave my hand toward him. “Let’s do it. Let’s fuck.”

I’m practically serving myself up on a silver platter here, but instead of taking me up on that offer, he just narrows his eyes at me. “Are you still drunk? Is that what it is?”

“Not drunk,” I say as patiently as I can, which by now is not very patiently at all. “If you don’t want to, just tell me.”

His frown deepens until it looks like he’s glowering at me. And maybe he is. I am practically demanding that he sleeps with me, and doing it in a pretty snippy tone while I’m at it.

I take a slow, deep breath and force a pleasant smile onto my face.

“I promise there’ll be no hard feelings if you say no. All I want from you now is an answer. Yes or no. It’s that easy.”

Instead of giving me that, he crosses his arms over his chest.

“What made you change your mind?”

I stare back.

“What?”

“What made you change your mind?” he repeats. “Because you sure as hell didn’t seem that interested in sleeping with me before last night, so what brought on the sudden change of heart?”

I look away from him then, because I can’t seem to hold his penetrating gaze.

“Nothing,” I say. “What? Are you saying I can’t change my mind?”

He lifts his chin an increment in challenge. “Why?”

“I just did!” I say, frustration coloring every word as I push myself up from my seat. “But okay, fine. You don’t want to anymore. I get the picture. Consider yourself off the hook. You can breathe easy or whatever. I’m not going to make you.”

I cross my arms over my chest with what I fucking very well am going to pretend is dignity and casualness.

Don’t want to sleep with me? Sure. Whatever. I’ve got plenty of options.

“Yeah,” he says slowly and, annoyingly, with all the dignity and casualness in the world. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think you just woke up and decided to take me up on my offer out of nowhere.”

I drag my fingers through my hair and huff in frustration.

“What does it even matter? The point is you made an offer, and now I’m accepting it. Come on, you made such a big deal out of what a heartless bastard you are, the least you can do is live up to the promise!”

I’m this close to stomping my foot on the ground, especially because he remains irritatingly calm.

“We all have our vices. Guess insatiable curiosity is mine.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I growl. “You know what? Forget it. I’m taking my acceptance of your offer back. If you aren’t interested anymore, all you had to do was say so. A simple no would’ve sufficed.” I push myself up from my seat, the legs of the chair screeching on the floor. “But no, you had to make a whole big thing of this, and that’s not what I’m after. You don’t want me? Fine. We’ll just pretend this?—”

Somehow, he’s in front of me, and now this is straight-up humiliating. I pretty much threw myself at him last night, and now I can’t take a hint and am doing it again, even though he’s not interested, and instead of even a smidge of interest about the prospect of sleeping with me, he’s eyeing me with concern. Fucking concern!

And to top it off, I’m all out of steam now this explosion of emotions and words and humiliation has subsided, even if my chest is rising and falling rapidly, and my whole face feels blazing hot.

I look away from him, and my face gets even hotter.

“I should go,” I mutter and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I say dully. “I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you. Let’s just forget this ever happened, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

I start to move, but he grabs my arm and stops me.

“No, I don’t think so,” he says when I look up from where he’s holding on to my arm to his face. “You’re not running away. We’re having a conversation.”

“We were having a conversation. We’re done now.”

“Nuh-uh. I have no idea which way is up with you right now.”

“I already said I was sorry.” Once again, I fail to sound composed. Goddamnit!

“Sure.” Sutton nods. “And you also threw a lot of words at me, and I’d like to get to the bottom of it.”

I clamp my mouth shut. I’ve already dug myself into a hole so deep I can barely see the light. No way in hell am I going to pick up a shovel again.

“Wren,” he says softly. Coaxingly.

I really should have run when I still had a chance. I figured if I asked him to sleep with me it’d be a done deal. I didn’t expect him to refuse in the first place, and I sure as fuck didn’t count on the ‘no’ coming with a heaping portion of humiliation.

He tilts his head until he catches my eye. He’s still frowning, pure worry in his gaze like he’s not sure why I’ve suddenly gone insane, but he’s determined to somehow help. It’s the patience in his look that breaks the seal.

“It’s supposed to be a test run,” I blurt.

I think most people would be confused and then offended.

Sutton isn’t.

Somehow, he effortlessly picks up what I’m trying to say.

“You wanted to test run sex with me?” he asks.

If he laughs, I’m out of here.

I underestimate him, though. If anything, he’s still just curious.

I wince and give a miserable nod. “Yes.”

“Because?” he asks.

“You offered?” I shrug.

“I did.”

We’re silent for a little bit.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” I say in a low voice, and I force myself to meet his gaze while I do it. “And… I’m not very nice to look at.”

He doesn’t storm to argue and reassure me that I really am an exceptional beauty and so on. I’m really not after that. His main reaction to what I said is a slightly quirked brow.

I blow out a breath and take a step back to give myself some room.

I hesitate.

Just do it!

My fingers tremble while I fumble with the edges of the sleeve. It takes me two tries before I manage to pull up the sleeves of the sweatshirt he gave me.

Finally, I hold my arms out in front of him.

My heart is pounding in my throat, and it’s starting to feel like I might vomit it out if I’m not careful.

I don’t have to look down to know what he’s seeing. I’ve done plenty of staring at myself over the years, so I’ve memorized the sight.

There is no untouched skin. It’s all scar tissue. Scars, scars everywhere, as far as the eye can see. I’m a human patchwork quilt because no two parts of my skin are the same, even if the many, many skin grafts have a certain pattern to them.

Sutton studies me calmly before he looks up and meets my gaze.

“It’s not just my arms,” I say.

The network of scars starts on the backs of my hands and moves up my arms to the collarbones, with fainter scars tracing up the side of my neck. The ones on my face are hardly visible if you don’t know what you’re looking at. A patch of my hair is missing from the side and will never grow back, but it’s a small sliver and it’s hidden well, so it’s not visible unless I part my hair just so.

From my neck the scars stretch out all over my chest and back, down my right butt cheek and hip. My left nipple does not exist anymore, so I only have one. Instead of the nipple, there’s just a small patch of darker skin where it used to be. My left thigh is, by some weird coincidence, pretty untouched. My right one not so much. From there, the scars run down both of my calves and my right foot.

“Burn scars?” Sutton asks almost absently, as if confirming what he already knows, his eyes now moving up and down me like he’s seeing through my clothes.

I nod. “Seventy-five percent of total body surface area, fifty percent of them third-degree burns.”

He opens his mouth.

“A house fire,” I say. “I was fifteen.”

He nods slowly, and I pull the sleeves back down because I feel uncomfortably vulnerable like this.

I don’t know what I expect him to do or say exactly, but I don’t expect him to be all business in a snap.

And he is.

“Right,” he says. “How does having sex with me play into this?”

His tone is light. Curious again. And I’m grateful.

“It’s a lot of scars.” I hesitate, trying to think of how to explain what exactly my hang-ups are. “I’ve… It’s been… People haven’t always reacted the best. To the scars.”

“You wanted to see what I’d do?” He’s not asking, really. Nor is he angry nor annoyed at me. He’s just stating a fact.

I lick my lips and give a slight nod. I sound like an asshole.

“And… because nudity has always been… an issue, I don’t… I don’t have a lot of experience,” I say. “With sex. There have been a few times… Some people…” I let out a frustrated breath at the stuttering explanation and my inability to sound like a normal person.

“I’ve tried before. Sex,” I clarify. “It didn’t go well. There were a few… instances where the scars freaked people out. And there was this guy I was seeing for a little while, and he said he was cool with them, but then when we… when we’d… get down to business, I couldn’t…” I huff out another breath because this is seriously turning out to be the most humiliating experience of my life. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t relax.”

Sutton is still just looking at me wordlessly.

“I just… I… I want to be normal,” I blurt and rub the back of my neck. “I want to be normal. I want to go out and pick somebody up from a bar and have sex and know what I’m doing. Or, scratch that. I want to know I can do it at all. That would be a good first step.” I take a deep breath. “I just thought… I’m already not the most appealing prospect for getting naked with, but if I get past that stage and then I just end up…” I wave vaguely to somewhere in the general direction of my lap. “Not performing. I mean, it’s not a physical issue. I can get hard. It’s just that then I…”

I make some sort of hand gesture and shrug, thoroughly done.

“Get too in your head?” Sutton says.

I nod miserably.

This is the most awkward seduction carried out by any person ever. I sound downright idiotic. Has anybody ever slept with another person because they felt sorry for them? Because I feel like that might be my crowd.

Sutton, for his part, looks strangely conflicted. If I had to guess, I think he’s trying to find a way to let me down gently. That’s nice of him. Unnecessary, but nice. Let’s face it, whatever chance I might’ve had with him disappeared the moment I delivered that pathetic monologue just now. Let’s have sex. I might not get hard, and you’ll probably take it personally, but let’s do it anyway.

I swallow when he still hasn’t done anything other than silently observe me.

“It’s fine,” I say. “It was a long shot anyway. Just figured I’d ask. I’ll download an app like a normal person.”

He’s still eyeing me with that unnerving intensity he sometimes has about him.

“An app,” he repeats.

I hold my hand up. “You don’t have to say anything. I know they exist. I know this was the more logical course to begin with. I just?—”

“I’ll do it.” He cuts me off so abruptly I can only stare at him and blink because I’m not sure I heard him right.

“You will?”

“Sure,” he says offhandedly, but he looks just a bit tense when he does it. I’m really not sure what that’s about but finding out is not a priority.

“Okay,” I say, a bit dazed from this sudden turn of events and the rush of relief that courses through me like a tidal wave. I clear my throat.

He smirks.

“Okay,” he says.

Yeah.

Guess that’s decided then.