“I don’t have friends.”

“Oh.”

That soft little sound does something to me and the next thing I know I’m explaining why the fuck I don’t have a buddy to shoot the breeze with. “I’m not very good with people. Friendships, dating, that’s all pointless to me. People generally hold my interest only as long as they remain useful to me. Once you’ve served your purpose, you don’t exist to me anymore.”

“That’s sad,” she remarks softly, with only compassion in her voice, but her tender brand of empathy chafes at my chest like sandpaper.

“That’s me.”

Chapter 17

Aylee

“Am I taking you home?” he asks, with visible tension in his clenched jaw. There’s a dark expression on his face that goes beyond simple brooding. Silently, I wonder if I did or said anything wrong.

“No,” the answer comes too quick. I hate how desperate I am right now for even the smallest sliver of his time and attention. “I’m supposed to be sleeping over at Mallory’s tonight.”

Nothing and then, “He let you off your chain?” The question drips with so much disdain, it burns like acid. There’s no reading his expression when he briefly turns to me. He’s completely closed off.

I don’t pretend not to know who he’s talking about. He saw the bruise on my cheek. He may not be the school type, but that certainly doesn’t mean he is stupid. He knows what’s happening. He knows Tim hurt me. Except he has no idea to what extent. And I want to keep it that way.

I hesitate for a small fraction of a second before throwing caution to the wind and setting my hand on his thigh. He visibly jerks, his thigh muscle tensing beneath my hand like my touch hurt him. When I make to pull back, his hand falls on mine like an anvil. His grip is so tight I’m afraid he might break my fingers.

“Maddox.” The whimper of his name instantly loosens his grip.

Taking his eyes momentarily off the road, he looks at me with sincerity. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He keeps my hand buried beneath the warm weight of his own.

We drive in silence going to a destination only he knows. It doesn’t matter where he’s taking me or where we end up. As long as I’m not going home. I’m content being in his truck. I’m content having my hand sandwiched between his palm and thigh. I’m content simply orbiting around him, basking in the lure of his presence. Bliss I’ve seldom known is in this moment.

Roughly forty-five minutes later, we pull up to an old, misshapen wire fence. Just beyond the fence are rows upon rows of massive steel, rectangular containers that stand maybe about forty to fifty feet high. It’s the sort of cargo containers you’d find attached to the back of semitrucks on the interstate.

Looking away from the lot, I ask, “What are we doing here?” He cuts the engine and pulls the key out of the ignition.

Wordlessly, he opens the driver’s side door and hops out. “Getting you a good grade.”

Ignoring that little voice in my head telling me this probably isn’t a good idea, I jump out of the truck, close the door behind me, and run to join him a few feet away from the eight-foot high fence. “You’re not actually thinking of going over that…right?”

He’s running before I even get the last word out. Jumping onto the fence, it squeaks and trembles when he lands on it. He straddles it at the top for a second before swinging both legs on one side and leaping off without the slightest hesitation. He lands on the other side effortlessly.

“It’s your turn,” he casually says, like jumping a fence is a common, leisure activity.

Trepidation twists my insides as I shake my head. “There’s no way I’m jumping this fence.”

“You’re going to have to if you’re going to see what I want to show you.”

Curiosity mixed with a good dose of skepticism prompts me to ask, “What is it?”

He laughs. “Get your ass over here and you’ll see it.”

I bite on my lower lip, completely uneasy now. “I don’t think…”

“Stop thinking,” he snaps, but then a little gentler he says, “I won’t let you fall.” I catch his eyes peering at me through the holes of the fence. It’s that pointed, magnifying stare that seems able to observe me down to the molecular level. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” he utters with such unshakable certainty I’d be stupid not to believe him.

Even with all the trust I choose to put in him, the panicked, adventure-less part of me is still screaming, “What the hell are you doing?” as I begin to scale the fence. I ignore it as best as I can, focusing solely on Maddox waiting for me on the other side. It’s no easy task making it to the top especially with the skirt and the partially-heeled bootees I’m wearing.

At the top, I look down at him. “Ready?”

He nods, planting his feet firmly. “Jump.”

Eyes clenched shut, and with a small choked scream on my lips, I jump. He catches me in a princess-carry hold as I land in his arms with an ‘oomph’ sound. My skirt folds upward revealing far too much of my thighs and my hair is in disarray around my face. I’m sure I look terrible as I quickly reach out a hand to smooth down my skirt.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks with that patented half smirk that weakens my knees and sends the butterflies in my stomach fluttering.

“It was, actually,” I begin, wanting to protest and wrap my arms around his neck when he sets me down on my feet. “But you made it easy.”

He only takes my hand in response and pulls me after him as he trudges across the dimly lit lot. When we stop in the towering shadow of one of the steel containers, he lets my hand go and reaches for the chipped, yellow rung of the container’s ladder.

With a groan, I ask, “More climbing?”

He chuckles. “It’s the last of it.”

He goes up first and I follow behind. When he reaches the top, he holds a hand down to help me up the rest of the way. On the roof of the container, our footsteps echo against the steel as he leads and I trail after him. It’s cooler up here as the night air whistles past our ears; it skims along my bare skin and leaves behind goose bumps. When he comes to a stop at the center edge of the container, I stand next to him with my arms tightly folded across my chest.

Turning my head at his sudden movement, I see him pull his sweater over his head. The white shirt he has on beneath rolls up a bit revealing an enticing glimpse of his tattoo-covered washboard abs and the top of his jeans riding low on his hips. Warmth floods my cheeks when I look up to find his left eyebrow cocked up and a smug grin on his face. “Still not looking, huh? Come here.” We each take a step forward at the same time. I duck my head as he smoothly sweeps the sweater on me.

Scrunching my nose at the laughter in his voice, I slip one arm and then the other inside the sleeves as he holds out each for me. “It’s not nice to tease,” I say, quietly drowning in his sweater. Still hot from his body, it’s like having his arms around me, and the scent of his cologne becomes the only fragrance in the world I want to smell. All the time.

Sweeping a tendril of hair near my mouth behind my ear, he reaches for the front of his sweater to tug me forward. He lowers his head down slightly and whispers, “But I’m so good at it.”

Licking my lips and blinking up at him, I add, “I don’t know what to do when you say things like that to me.” It’s terrible how I can’t seem to stop blurting out stupid and embarrassing things like this when he’s so close to me. His nearness is my kryptonite.

“Lick your lips for me.” It’s an unexpected request that my body instantly follows. My tongue flicks across my lips, subconsciously biting at the inside flesh when his eyes fixate on my mouth.

He takes my face in his hands and tilts my head up. “Do it again. Slower.”