She remains silent as she waits for me to get my point across.
“You don’t love him. You’re still here-not because you’re too weak to leave-but because you’re too strong to leave. You put up with this shit because you know it’s not about you. It’s not about your own safety. You do it for your brother. Everything you do, you do for other people. Not many people have that kind of courage and strength, Sloan. It’s fucking inspiring.”
Her lips part and she sucks in a soft rush of air. Based on her reaction, I’d say she’s not used to being complimented. And that’s sad.
“I’m sorry I said those things to you at the restaurant,” I tell her. “You aren’t weak. You aren’t Asa’s doormat. You’re…”
A tear trickles out of her left eye and trails down her cheek. I lift my hand and press it to her cheek, letting the tear fall against my thumb. I don’t wipe it away. If anything, I want to bottle it up and save it. This is probably the first tear she’s ever cried as the result of a compliment, rather than an insult.
“I’m what?” she asks, her voice soft and hopeful. She’s looking up at me, wanting-needing me to finish my sentence.
My eyes drop to her mouth and my chest constricts at the thought of what her lips would feel like sliding against mine. I swallow hard and finish saying the words I know she needs to hear.
“You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” I whisper. “You are everything Asa doesn’t deserve. And…” I take a step closer and she tilts her head up as I lean in toward her and whisper, “And everything I want.”
She sighs softly and we’re so close I can feel her breath on my lips—so close I can already taste her. I run my hand through her hair to pull her toward me, but the second our lips almost meet, the backdoor to the kitchen begins to open. We both separate, facing opposite directions. I open the refrigerator just as Jon walks into the kitchen. I look away from him, but not before seeing the knowing look he shoots me. The suspicion.
Shit.
I hear Sloan open a cabinet behind me. I reach inside the refrigerator. “Want a beer?” I ask Jon, holding it out toward him.
He takes two deliberately slow steps toward me, eyeing me hard, and takes the beer from my hand. He glances behind me at Sloan as he twists off the cap. “What did I just interrupt?”
I wait to see if Sloan wants to answer, but she doesn’t. There’s just a long stretch of silence. I grab another beer out of the fridge and then close the door, glancing in Sloan’s direction. Her back is to both of us as she pours herself a glass of water from the sink.
I could act like Jon is overreacting. I could feign innocence. But Jon would know better. I know what it looked like when he walked in here-both of us turning in opposite directions, separating, looking guilty.
Jon doesn’t know me. For all he knows, I’m just like him. Making him think I’m not worried about repercussions would probably gain me more respect from him than not. Making him believe I think Sloan is just another “whore” (as Asa would say) would be better in his eyes than if I actually thought she was anything different.
I look back at Jon and smirk as I take a step toward him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Just as I pass him, I wink, allowing him to think whatever the hell he wants.
I walk confidently outside and as soon as the door shuts behind me, I press my hand into the wall and let out a huge rush of air.
I can feel the pull in every part of me-the blood rushing to my head as my lungs drag in all the breaths Sloan took from me in that kitchen. Or took from Luke, rather. Because that was all me just now, pulling her to me, wanting to put my mouth on hers. That had nothing to do with why I’m here.
And I got exactly what I deserved for allowing it to happen. Jon knows he walked in on something and now I have to figure out how to fix that before Asa finds out.
Shit just got real.
SLOAN-20
Sloan
My hands are shaking as I take a sip of water. I know Jon is still in the kitchen, standing somewhere behind me, but I don’t want to turn around. He disgusts me almost as much as Asa, and knowing he thinks he saw something between me and Carter gives him a leg up. I know how he works. I’m not stupid.
I set the glass down and glance behind me. Jon is standing against the fridge, staring at the words I wrote. He lifts his hand and traces his index finger around the words on the dry erase board, then he runs his finger through them, erasing them. “What the fuck does this even mean?” he says, glancing back at me.
I face him full-on, folding my arms over my chest. I hate how his eyes scroll down my body. I hate how he looks at me-like I’m the one thing he can’t have. Only now that he thinks Carter almost had me, I somehow seem more attainable to him.