Page 21 of The Next Lie

My mouth twitches. He sees it and wisely does not celebrate. I climb into the bed because the alternative is standing there until my legs give out on principle. The mattress dips under my weight. Soft sheets slide over my skin. My body recognizes the offer of sleep and almost betrays me immediately. Shiloh tucks the blanket around me. Actually tucks it.

I stare at him. “Did you just tuck me in?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you looked like you might stab me if I tried to cuddle you without warning.”

“That is accurate.”

“I am a man of strategy.”

He sits on the edge of the mattress, one hand resting beside my hip, not touching. His hair is still damp. His face looks younger without the charm arranged over it. More tired. More dangerous, maybe, because sincerity on Shiloh has no practiced edges. I look toward the closed bedroom door.

“Nash?”

“Ever will come get me if he needs me.”

“And Deacon?”

His expression hardens. “Deacon is not coming through that door.”

The certainty in his voice settles something in me. I hate that too. I hate how many pieces of me have started responding to them without permission. “Delia knew me,” I say.

Shiloh’s hand flexes against the sheet. “Yes.”

“She knew me and walked away.”

“Yes.”

I turn my face toward the pillow. “I hate her.”

“No, you don’t.”

Anger flickers weakly. “Don’t tell me what I feel.”

“I’m not.” His voice stays quiet. “You hate that she walked away. You hate that she knew more than you. You hate that she looked at you like you were danger. That’s not the same thing as hating her.”

I want to argue. The words don’t come. He reaches up and brushes damp hair off my cheek. “You can hate her for tonight if you need to.”

My throat tightens. “That sounds like permission.”

“It’s company.”

I look at him then. He gives me a tired, crooked smile. “I can sit with ugly feelings, Yank. I’ve been keeping mine in good bourbon and bad decisions for years.”

That almost gets another laugh. Instead, my eyes burn. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and remember this.”

His face stills. “The sex?”

“No.” Heat touches my cheeks despite everything. “The rest of it.”

He nods once. “I know.”

“If I sleep, it’ll be morning.”

“That is usually how sleep works.”