Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2) (30 page)

I went back to gathering the rest of the pots, pans and utensils and dumped them in the sink. Shoulder to shoulder, he washed and I rinsed, our movements synchronized, as if we had known each other in another life. And in that life, we hadn’t been orphaned, and we didn’t have secrets that threatened to tear us apart. And the man I was starting to fall in love with wasn’t the monster that had triggered every terrible thing that had ever happened to my little brother and me.

W
EDNESDAY WAS RAVEN.

Calling her after she got off work, and talking on the phone until 3 in the morning. Telling her about my pipe dreams to change the world. Listening to her bucket list of places she wanted to visit.

Thursday was Raven.

Watching her waitress at Dive as I sipped beer at the bar with CJ. Pulling her into my arms as she walked by. Stealing kisses whenever she had a free moment.

Friday was Raven.

Meeting her for lunch near her school. Daring her to take a bite of my taco until she relented. Tasting her lips as I pressed my body into hers at her car, nowhere near ready to say goodbye.

Every day was filled with her, yet it wasn’t nearly enough. The yearning for contact had been steadily growing stronger, and while I didn’t want to rush her, I knew myself. I knew what my body needed. And it was becoming harder and harder to stifle its urges.

This whole thing was new to me. And considering we hadn’t even put a label on our . . .
situation
. . . I honestly didn’t know what was appropriate. I knew I didn’t want to fuck it up, that was for sure. But I also knew that I couldn’t keep denying the side of me that craved contact. And the fact she hadn’t made it known that she needed it—needed me—made me start to doubt what was between us. Maybe I was delusional, playing myself into thinking that we were actually together. Shit, it wasn’t like we’d made things official.

But still.

I cared about her. I couldn’t lie to myself. And for that reason, I was reluctant to take this to a physical level, no matter how badly I wanted her. In my fucked up, convoluted head, sex wasn’t a show of intimacy that was attached to emotion. It wasn’t an act of love and affection. It was confirmation—a necessity to feel solidified in my manhood. It was the only way I could go to bed at night and feel somewhat okay in my own skin.

I didn’t want to use Raven for my own selfish needs, but . . . fuck . . . I needed her. I needed her bad.

In my bones, I knew that being with her would break my resolve in two. I knew my fortress of fantasy would come crumbling down the very moment I fit myself between her thighs and pushed inside her. Not falling for her wasn’t an option, because I had already fallen. Fallen deep and hard and fast. Too fast. And nothing that happened that forcefully could be good for me. But, being the indulgent motherfucker I was, it just made me want her more.

I was in my room getting ready for the evening ahead, when Angel stopped inside my doorway, her guitar case in tow. “You coming tonight?”

I shook my head. “Raven worked the lunch shift today, so we’ve got plans.”

“Oh?” She watched me button up a crisp, linen shirt before making a suggestive sound in her throat.
“Ohhhh.
I know what tonight is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ang.”

“Bullshit, you don’t. The clothes, the sexy cologne, fresh haircut. You’re about to give her the Dirty Dom Special with extra sauce.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Dude, you act like I don’t know all your tricks. Hell, I
taught
you all your tricks.”

“Um, I remember that happening much differently,” I scoffed.

“Whatever. You were okay before me. I made you great.
Leg-end-ar-y.
You’ll go down in history books as the guy that took Angel Cassidy’s V-Card and the only peen this puss has ever seen. Be proud, young grasshopper.”

“You’re talking about yourself in third person now? What’s next? Rushing random stages and giving fake honors to Beyonce?”

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand dramatically. “Puh-lease. Beyonce thinks they should give all awards to me.”

We shared a laugh and a kiss on the cheek before she went to rock the masses, leaving me to contemplate my next move. Raven and I had plans tonight, but she didn’t know it yet. And if I was going to do this . . . if I was going to take this step, I had to do it the right way. No matter how much it terrified the fuck outta me.

An hour later, I stood in the middle of her tiny apartment, nervous as hell and rethinking everything I had done to get to this point. Shit, what if this was a mistake? What if she saw this as yet another violation? What if I was being presumptuous and all this would prove comical to her? I wanted to call Kami and unload on her, but that wouldn’t be fair. She was happy, she was in love, and if she could go through hell and back for the person she adored, I could too.

Toby was only too eager to help me out with my odd requests, without truly knowing the nature of them. Of course, that was after I lent him my PS4 for the weekend. Since he usually stayed over at Mrs. Ralston’s when Raven worked late, after hooking up the game system and providing them with takeout, I was left to prepare.

Angel was partially correct—this was
the night.
But there would be no Dirty Dom. I wouldn’t try to fuck her brains out, only to get up, dress and leave right after. Not if I could help it.

Two dozen candles flickered around the room, the wine was chilled, and soft music played. In my mind, this was the corniest thing I had ever done. But in my heart, I hoped that the sentiment would not be lost on her. I wanted her to know that I had not only listened to her dreams, I cared about them. I cared about her. And sometimes you had to do corny shit to prove that you gave a damn about someone.

I held my breath when I heard the key slip into the lock of her front door. It felt like hours instead of mere seconds before the handle twisted and she stepped inside. But when she lifted her gaze and took in the scene in front of her, I thought . . .

This.

This was what I had been waiting for.

The wonder in her eyes. The look of complete and utter amazement. This was what I wanted more than anything. Maybe even more than sex.

“Oh my God,” she gasped as she realized what I had done. “How did you . . . ? How did you do this?”

“I’ve got friends in high places,” I smiled. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Holy crap, Dom. I never thought . . . I never even imagined . . .”

She stood speechless with a hand over her mouth as she gazed at all the beauty that was seen through her lens. All the beauty she had captured and reflected.

Although it had taken some time and a couple bribes, I was able to get ahold of all of Raven’s undeveloped photos. Luckily, most of them were in a shoebox full of USBs in her closet, but some were still on old-school rolls, before the days of digital. I was amazed by how deep her passion ran, and how truly talented of an artist she was. And I wanted her to see just how amazing I thought she was. Toby had let me know that the printing could be expensive, and Raven could rarely afford it now that she was a full-time working parent and student. So, I took it upon myself to take care of it, and display her works on every wall, surface and space in the living area of her apartment.

There were black and white photos of random people in their rawest, realest forms, all traveling on different paths. Some were homeless people around in the heart of the city. There were photos of stoic business people in power suits, barking into cell phones. Pictures of women cradling babies, lips pressed to chubby cheeks. Portraits of children playing, laughing freely without a single care in their world. Shades of happiness, anger, sadness, desperation and love were all displayed on her walls. It was honest. It was life.

“There were a lot. More than I had space to cover. So I placed them in a folder for you.” I stepped beside her and handed her a glass of wine.

“Thank you,” she said before taking a sip. “This is incredible, Dom. I just . . .” She paused to collect herself, taking a breath. “I kept telling myself that one day . . . one day I’d do it, and I’d get to relive all those special moments frozen in time. And then maybe their beauty would erase all the ugliness in my past. They would rewrite my history.”

I slipped the glass from her hand, placing it on an end table nearby. Then I pulled her into my arms. “If I could replace every hurt you’ve ever felt, I would. I would take it all and bottle them up forever so you would never suffer again. But then we wouldn’t be standing here. I wouldn’t feel for you the way that I do. And you wouldn’t be looking up at me with the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen. So while I would erase your past if I could, I want to keep it too. Because without it, we would never have this present. And we’d have nothing to hope for in the future.”

She smiled at me, and I felt my insides heat. “When did you get so poetic?”

“I don’t know. I think a girl had something to do with it. She’s the artsy fartsy type.”

When she laughed, eyes closed and head dipped back, I felt like the luckiest man in the world. Because I had made her happy, if only for a little while.

“Sometimes I think I know you, Dominic Trevino,” she whispered. “And then I realize that I was wrong.”

“Not as bad as you thought, huh?”

A Cheshire grin crept onto her lips. “No. You’re much worse.”

Her mouth was soft and warm against mine, her hands delicately firm as they slid up my neck and into my hair. I could taste the longing on her tongue, sweet yet tart from the wine, and I drank it in like an elixir. She intoxicated me. Beguiled by the beauty of her soul. I felt like I had just woken up from a lifetime of detachment, and now I lived to feel
everything.

I could have kissed her forever—and I wanted to—but I forced myself to pull away in an act of selflessness. There was something she needed to see. Something she needed to know about me.

“Come with me,” I said, my voice husky.

I took her hand and led her over to where that framed photo of her and Toby sat. I had paid special attention to this section, decorating it with some of the oldest photos I’d had developed. The pictures that her mother had taken. I didn’t want to upset her, so I put most of them in a folder for her to look at later. I only showcased a few shots of her and her brother, ones that would only evoke happiness in her when they called on a lost memory. She gasped aloud as she touched each one, remembering birthday parties, bike rides and forts made of blankets in the family room. I wanted her to see that not all past was pain.

When she came to a more recent photo, I awaited her reaction without breathing.

“How did you get this?”

“Last weekend after dinner . . . you let me take a few photos.”

“You said you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I didn’t. You did it all for me.”

Her back was to me in the photo, her arms outstretched and head to the sky as she stood at the cliff’s edge. She was unguarded and completely uninhibited. In that moment, she was as free as a bird.

“Turn it over,” I told her.

When she read the inscription, the words I had fashioned just for her in my scrawl, an undefined feeling filled my chest. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was lust. Maybe it was fear.

All the beauty in the world has been captured in your eyes.

Raven, you reflect life.

Then she looked at me, and I realized, it was none of those things at all. Not even close.