Pieces of Me (13 page)

The
excitement of getting to see Cole outweighs the unease of heading to a bar. In
the few short months that I have been here, in the few weeks that I have been
with Cole, I have found the start of what I was looking for.

Only
I know it is based on lies and half-truths.

I
struggle every day with the need to tell him, to tell Grace.

But
not tonight. Tonight I'm going to take another step towards putting my life
together again. I'll deal with the rest later.

As
promised, Grant is standing on the wide porch of Howard Hall when we step
outside. He smiles at me as he leans over to kiss Grace.

“Hello,
ladies,” he drawls. “A little bored were we?”

“Grace
was bored. I was working on a paper.”

Grace
snorts. “You were staring at the one measly paragraph you'd managed to write in
between checking your email and daydreaming about Cole.”

“At
least I was attempting to do school work instead of reading a gossip magazine.”

Her
eyes narrow. “They can be very educational.”

“Really?”
I challenge, raising my eyebrows. “How's that?”

Grant
steps between us. “Jesus, I'm sorry I asked. The two of you do need a time
out.”

Grace
and I start laughing at the same time, before Grace says, “I think it was the
close quarters. The walls were starting to close in.”

“I
think next year we should get a place off campus together. That way when we get
pissy we can go into another room.”

“Oh,
that sounds great,” Grace inserts. We've reached the parking lot and Grant
opens both the passenger side doors so we can slide in before heading to the driver’s
side. “We should try to get a place over by Cole. Grant is going to stay with
him next year since Holden will have graduated.”

We
talk more about the possibility of moving into a townhouse next year while
Grant maneuvers through traffic. He pulls into a small parking lot next to a rundown
building that only has a smattering of cars parked in it. I shiver when I see
that Cole’s truck is parked right next to where Grant has pulled in.

He
is leaning against the brick wall near the front door of the bar, his hands
tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, wearing a gray hoodie with the CMU
logo stretched across the front. His smile grows the closer I get to him, and
when I am close enough he reaches out and grabs one of my hands, pulling me
against him for a kiss.

“Hello,
beautiful.”

I
can feel the rumble of his words from where I am leaning against him.

“Hi.”

“You
really love torturing me, don't you?” He asks, flicking his finger over my glasses
where they sit on my nose, as I lean back.

“It
has its perks.”

Laughing
he pushes off the wall, linking his hand more firmly with mine, as he pulls me
into the bar. It’s dimly lit, with some soft unrecognizable music playing from
hidden speakers. It isn't very crowded inside and we are able to get a table in
the far corner.

I
slide into a chair next to Ally, and across from Robby, who is sitting next to
a pretty blonde who I vaguely recall seeing around campus before. She doesn't
look anything like his usual type.

She
looks normal.

“This
is Lacey,” he says, before introducing the rest of us.

Cole
leans over and whispers in my ear, “Do you want a beer or anything?”

I
shake my head. “Just bottled water.”

He
moves off to the bar with Grant so I attempt to tune into the conversation
around the table.

“What
are your plans for Thanksgiving, Lacey?”

I
hadn't necessarily forgotten that Thanksgiving was quickly coming up; it was
after all the latest stunt I was pulling that left my mother with heart
palpitations, since I refused to go home.

I
wondered if it occurred to her that the reason I didn't want to go was that the
three days immediately preceding Thanksgiving this year would be the
anniversary of the worst three days of my life.

Probably
only when she was drinking for free at the country club as her ‘friends’
listened to her tale of woe.

Cole
slides a bottle of water in front of me as I listen to Lacey talk about
returning home to Charleston for the nine day break from school.

“Are
you heading home, Delaney?”

I
look up at Robby who asked the question. “Oh, no. I'm staying here.”

Under
the table I feel Cole’s hand settle on my leg, just above my knee. We've talked
about this, several times, over the last few weeks. He wants me to go home with
them.

I
won't go, but not for the reasons he thinks.

“All
by yourself?”

This
comes from Lacey, who has a bit of a southern pull to her voice, which I'm sure
only makes her that much more appealing to Robby.

“It'll
give me some time to catch up on some work, and to start prepping for exams.” I
say with a roll of one shoulder. Robby leans over and whispers something in her
ear and then the conversation switches to some local band that is going to play
here at Grady's next week.

“Your
first class is at ten on Thursdays right?” Cole has leaned into ask the
question and the warmth from his breath tickles against my ear.

“Yes.”

“Good.”
He stands up. “Del and I are going to head out.”

We
are? We've just barely sat down. But he's looking at me in a way that heats my
insides, even with everyone watching us. And when he grabs my hand, pulling me
up, I let myself be lead from the bar. It's not until we're settled in his
truck that I realize I hadn't even said goodbye to anyone.

“I
still think you should come with us.” He says, reaching out to turn the heat on
in the truck full blast. It's not all that cold outside, not like the fall
weather I'm used to, but I welcome the warm air as I prepare myself for this
conversation again.

“I
wouldn't feel right,” I start, “invading on your family time like that.”

“Ally
will be there.” He points out.

“You
know Holden is about three seconds from asking her to marry him, so that's not
even remotely close to the same thing.”

I
don't question where we’re going as he pulls out of the parking lot. I assume
it’s back to his place. I actually really hope it is.

“I
don't like the idea of you being here all alone.”

“I
won't be.” I insist. “There are other students who will be staying on campus,
and the food court is going to be open until lunch Thanksgiving day, and after
that I'll live on microwave ramen noodles.”

“Not
exactly a traditional Thanksgiving meal.”

“Last
Thanksgiving I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” I say dryly. “The food
court will be an improvement.”

We've
pulled up in front of the townhouse and he is staring at me. “Peanut butter and
jelly? You're serious?”

“What's
wrong with a good PB&J?”

Cole
studies me for a moment and then shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing. Let’s go
inside.”

He
waits for me to come around the front of the truck before moving towards the
house. With every step we take our arms brush against each other. I don't want
to think about Thanksgiving dinner and how disappointed he is that I won't go
home with him.

Honestly,
I want to kiss him. I find myself thinking about kissing him all the time. And
now that

I
know we are going to be alone in the house?

I'm
only thinking about it more.

Cole
unlocks the door quickly and we slip inside. He starts to move towards the
couch but I stop him with a tug on his hand. He looks back to me, a question on
his gorgeous face. I glance up the stairs.

I
know I've caught his attention by the way his body straightens, his hand
squeezing mine just a little bit tighter than before. I also know that he won't
make the first move up those stairs.
It has to be me.

Even
before I reach the first step I feel the low simmer of arousal snake through my
body, a feeling that has become more familiar over the last few weeks.

When
we reach the top of the stairs I have to wait for him to move around me. I've
never been up here before and have no clue which room is his. Still silent, he
leads me to the end of the hall and through one of the closed doors.

Now
that I'm actually standing here, in his room, I'm not quite sure that I'll be
able to stay. There is a heavy weight pressing down on my chest, but I'm
determined to try not to let it stop me.

Soon
I will be thrown back. I won't be able to stop the flood of memories that will
assault me, except those few precious hours of untouched sleep the sleeping
pills I have tucked in my dresser will give me.

I
despise medication in all forms, even as I fully understand the necessity of
them. My hatred is deep rooted in the fact that four years ago, for three
achingly long days I had been drugged against my will, fully aware of what was
happening to me, while unable to do more than quietly cry while it happened.

But
every year during those three days I take sleeping pills, because without them
the nightmares become too much. The memories too real.

But
tonight I want to push those lingering memories away and make new ones, happy
ones. I'm afraid that if I wait until after the macabre anniversary of my rape,
I will have regressed back so far that his touch alone will send me into a
panic attack.

“Now
that you've got me here, whatever are you going to do with me Delaney Roberts?”

I
let my eyes travel over him, feeling that low simmer turn into an aching burn.
Slipping my hand from his I let my fingers trail up his arm, over his shoulder,
his neck, twisting slightly in his hair.

“The
possibilities are endless,” I murmur just before I urge his head to lower down
to mine. His lips are as soft and warm as always as they gloss over mine. My
other hand slips up, anchoring on the other side of his neck so I can hold him
in place.

I
love the feel of his body against mine the solid feel of his muscles contouring
against the soft lines of my curves. As I run my tongue over the seam of his
lips, dipping inside only slightly, I wiggle closer to him.

His
hands settle on my hips, and with the closeness of our bodies I can feel the
evidence of his arousal hot against my stomach. I push against him slightly,
urging him to step backwards. I keep him moving until the back of his legs hit
his bed.

He
drops down on the edge of the mattress, his hands never straying from my hips.
His eyes are hooded, so dark they are nearly black as he studies my face.

“I
love how you make me feel,” I whisper.

“Oh,
yeah? How do I make you feel?”

“Warm,”
I trace a finger along the edge of his jaw, across his chin and up over his
lips.

“Comfortable.”
I follow the same path on the other side of his face. “Hot.” He smiles and as
my fingers hit his lips this time his tongue snakes out and slips across the
tips.

A
shiver races up my spine as the desire settles even deeper in my stomach. He
pulls on my hips, bringing me down to settle on his lap, and I whimper at the
feel of our bodies pressing against each other. My neck tilts back, back
arched, pressing myself deeper against him.

I
nearly fall apart when I feel the whisper soft touch of his lips along the
column of my throat, trailing down across my collarbone.

I
never feel him move his hands, but I hear the zipper of my hoodie slide open.
The sound echoing loudly in my ears.

My
skin pimples at the combination of the cool air hitting the overheated flush of
my skin and the feel of his hands skimming down my now bare arms. The thin
white tank top I wear is a small barrier between his hands and my skin.

I
bring my head forward again, dropping down until my lips find his, and suddenly
the slow sensual pace we had set wasn't enough. I want more. I want the heat
and flash and overwhelming desire I had seen between Grace and Grant only weeks
ago. I want to be so lost in him, that he is helpless to do anything but follow
me.

My
hands slip down his body, bolder than they've ever been, bolder than I really
feel at the moment. They slip under the edge of his sweatshirt, and the t-shirt
below it, at the same moment that I twist my hips, just a little. His chest
rumbles against mine, the sound coming from deep inside of him, and I know
instantly that he approves of my actions.

I
let my fingers bush against the hot skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles
ripple and roll at my touch.

“Jesus,
Delaney,” he gasps, pulling his lips from mine. He leans away, pulling up the
hem of his sweatshirt until it’s over his head, the t-shirt following closely
behind. They land on the floor, but I have no time to see where because he's
back in an instant, and now it's not just me who has urgency. His lips slant
over mine; pulling me in as his hands slip up the back of my tank top.
I want more.