16. Grenade

SIXTEEN

GRENADE

Midnight Rain, Taylor Swift

Roe

The sunlight warming my face wakes me up from the deepest sleep I’ve had in years. I don’t remember the last time I drifted off to sleep without noticing. Looking around, I suddenly remember where I am. I yawn widely, twisting my body only to realize that there’s a warm, hard body under me. I flinch when I see that I was completely draped over and around him. This is when it all hits.

The race.

Santiago.

Last night.

What in the actual fuck was I thinking. and what am I thinking now?

I don’t cuddle. I don’t hug. I definitely don’t snuggle with one-night stands and that’s all this can ever be. Is it considered a one-night stand if I already know the guy? Well, either way, this can’t happen again. No matter how hot every minute of last night was, I don’t have time for this.

His eyes are open and he’s eyeing me suspiciously. One hand is under his head and his golden skin practically glows in the sun coming through the small tent window. Shit, we ’ re at the track, in the middle of the campground. I don’t know what I was thinking. Actually, you know what? I do. I looked at him without a care in the world as I was fuming. Combine that with the need to climb him like a tree every time I see him, I figured one quick fuck could get us out of our misery. It may have backfired because that was the hottest sex of my life.

I look back at him and see his beautiful body and how perfect it looks in this light. The web of ink sprawled over his tan skin speaks to me, each tattoo telling me a story. I trace a few of them with my fingertips and he writhes under my touch. He grabs my hand and raises an eyebrow, murmuring, “Be careful princesa, or I’m going to start thinking you actually like me.”

That breaks me from my trance, and I immediately get up, grabbing a gray shirt from a pile in the corner. The shirt is huge; it was my dad’s, so it hits me right above the knees, nearly swallowing me whole. “I don’t like you, you jerk. I was admiring your tattoos,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and giving him the death stare.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about yours, too,” Saint quips. When I raise my eyebrow, he grins. “I need new ink and don’t know where to go in Baker.” He stands up, nonchalantly showing me every inch of his perfectly sculpted body. With a confident stride he grabs his pants from yesterday and puts them on without a care in the world. “Yours are great–can you recommend an artist?”

Oh fuck me. “There’s a couple of places in Baker.” Since when have I ever been shy to tell people that I’m the best tattoo artist they will ever find, or that they should check out my work? It took me years to feel confident enough in my skill to recommend myself when people asked. And I’m damn proud of my accomplishments and my skills.

“Actually,” I say, shaking myself out of whatever stupor I was in, “I own a tattoo shop in Baker. Some of these—” I lift my arm and show him “—were done by me.”

He raises his eyebrows and stays silent, drinking in every inch of my tatted exposed skin. He doesn’t take his eyes away from the swirls and creatures designed on my arm. The elephant and the snake. The tens of butterflies. The dotted lines on my wrist or the little mushroom on my forearm.

I feel a defensive fire leap up my spine. “What? Surprised a girl can do this or that I tattooed myself?”

“Neither, princesa,” he replies, stepping forward and bringing his thumb to my cheek. “It’s just that you’re amazing. Every detail I learn about you makes me realize it even more.”

I snap my face away from his touch and take a step back. He flinches in response, and I can see hurt in his eyes. Too soon for these big feelings . “You keep getting surprised because you don’t know me, Santiago.”

“But I want to know you. I want to discover more wonderful things about you. If you’d let me.” His body is tense, but he doesn’t wait for a response before he picks up his jersey and puts it on. “And only my mom calls me Santiago, princesa, so unless you have a mommy kink, I’d rather you call me something else.”

“I thought nobody called you Saint either,” I add, mostly annoyed at the fact that he can read me so well.

“But you do, and I kinda like that.” He picks up his boots, unzips the tent, and is ready to walk away when he stops and turns his body to face me.

“You know, life could be so much better if you’d just open up. There’s a whole world of possibility out there and you deserve it. You deserve to live it. But you need to let yourself be vulnerable in order for that to happen.”

He rubs his face with his hand and shakes his head. Scoffing, he lifts his eyes to mine, staring straight into my soul. I may have put clothes on but I feel bare in front of him. Like he can see every single flaw. Like he can feel the unseen scars. The ones I bury deep for nobody to find. The scars that are known only to my demons and haunted by ghosts of the past.

His voice is low and warm as he continues, “I enjoy your company. God only knows why because you keep giving me whiplash. But I’m here, willing to get to know you if you’d let me. When you’re ready, come find me. In the meantime, what happened last night can’t happen again.”

“Last night was fun and you can’t deny that,” I say, surprising even myself because I’m usually a one-and-done kinda girl. So why am I saying it now? Actually, this is the first time I’ve woken up next to someone. “We don’t need to talk to keep each other company, especially that kind of company.” I lift the oversized shirt over my head and drop it to the floor as ammunition. He is stripping me bare to my soul so I might as well defend myself the only way I know how—with my body.

He looks me up and down, his eyes darkening and I think that I’m about to get everything I want. To stop him from thinking. To stop him from telling me more truths that I did not ask for and don’t want. He closes his hands around his thumbs, his knuckles turning white before he shakes his head and says, “A taste of you is not enough. I need more. But until you’re willing to let me try, whatever this is—” he moves his hand between us “—won’t happen again. See you around, Roe.”

Roe . My name on his lips feels like a curse. Like I don’t deserve his warmth. I didn’t know how much I liked him calling me princesa until he called me something else. My name has never sounded more like a punishment than at this moment. He turns around and leaves like nothing happened, like he didn’t just throw a grenade at me and walk away with the pin.