Trashy (Take It Off #10)(40)
Author: Cambria Hebert

“You don’t have to apologize,” I told her, crouching down in the open doorway.

“Yeah. I do. That was bitchy.”

“I like me a sassy woman.”

She smiled.

I took her hand in mine, holding it in the space between us. “I’m gonna make something clear right here, right now,” I said quietly, calmly.

She took note of the no-shit serious tone and her hand tensed in mine.

“I’m the kind of man who takes care of what’s his. You make my overprotective instincts go crazy. I’m never going to be a guy who lets you fend for yourself. I’m going to buy you presents. I’m going to fix your shit when it’s broken. I’m probably going to bitch about your sexy ass and bra-like shirts. And under no circumstances am I going to sit around with my thumb up my ass and let car mechanics screw you over while I drive around in my BMW. That’s not who I am, not with you.”

“Adam…” This time my name didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a promise.

“Get your sexy ass out of the car,” I said and gave her a tug. She came willingly. “Think you can handle that?” I asked, looking into her eyes.

“Yeah.” Her voice was hoarse. “I can handle that.”

I kissed her softly and whispered, “I love you,” against her lips. She smiled.

I led her around to the driver’s side and held out my hand. “Give me your car keys.”

“Why?” she asked cautiously.

“In case there’s an emergency and I need to leave.”

She fished them out of that endless bag on her shoulder and handed them over. I slid them in my pocket. “I’ll see ya when you get back.”

I watched her slip into the driver’s seat of the Roadster. She seemed nervous.

“I’ve never driven a car this nice before.” She worried, chewing on her lower lip.

“Get used to it.” I leaned down in the doorframe.

“You know I don’t need presents or fancy cars… All I really want is you.”

And that’s exactly why I was going to give her everything.

“Call me if you get held up,” I said, shutting the door and poking my head through the window to kiss her one last time.

“You’re a really good boyfriend,” she whispered as I was backing away. Then she gave me a little wave and reversed out of the lot.

I watched until she turned onto the main road. I wondered if she realized what she just said.

I was pretty sure she hadn’t meant to call me that. But I was fucking thrilled she did. She hadn’t answered my question last night. She hadn’t told me yet if she would be mine.

But now she didn’t have to.

I already had my answer.

25

Roxie

A slip of the tongue.

It’s all it took for me to know how I truly felt.

Boyfriend.

One word.

One seemingly insignificant word.

Adam was so much more than my “boyfriend,” but I had no idea how else to classify him.

Keeper of your heart, a voice in my head whispered.

My stomach squirmed with nerves because it felt like too much too soon.

We’d only just started seeing each other. Technically, I guess we still weren’t. I never did tell him if I would be his. My subconscious told him, though.

I wondered if he noticed what I called him just before I drove away. I was sure he did, and he didn’t correct me. I smiled and turned up the radio.

This car was incredible. It slid over the road like its tires were made of butter. Yet I felt like it owned the road, that it was stable and reliable. The seats were buttery soft leather, the controls on the dash right at my fingertips. It was a convertible two-seater, but it was just too hot to have the top down. The A/C was sinful, and I sighed in appreciation at how cold and crisp it blew out of the vents. My car’s air never got this cool, even when it worked.

But even if Adam didn’t have a nice car or an apartment on the beach, I would still have fallen for him. He didn’t seem to put much value into material things. I think he just liked nice stuff. I couldn’t fault him for that because everyone liked nice stuff. And he worked for the things he had; he put in the hours and the late nights. He earned it.

He didn’t try to sell his girlfriend into adult films to pay his bills.

I blanched, a sour taste in my mouth. I’d almost forgotten about that little confrontation I had with Craig. But then Adam mentioned tomorrow, and it all came crashing back.

Be at that address day after tomorrow, Roxie. Come dressed like the trashy bitch you are.

It’s already a done deal.

Craig expected me to show up at some skeevy address tomorrow and have sex on command. Sex with someone I didn’t know. Someone I didn’t want to know. Someone who would probably make my skin crawl.

If I had any doubt that I had any love left in my heart for Craig, it was completely gone. I could never love anyone who tried to whore me out. Literally.

I hadn’t lied to Adam. In fact, the truth had been hard as hell to say out loud. But I wanted him to know. I wanted to give him all the info before he decided he really did want me.

Craig would always have a little piece of my heart. I think it’s like that for all first loves. At least I hoped it was. If not, then I was one twisted bitch.

But I was finally okay with that. I was okay with it because that little piece of me belonged to the Craig I knew when I was seventeen. The guy who wore hoodies in the cold and sang to the radio way too loud and off key. He was the guy who fed me Fritos right out of the bag and the first guy to make my heart flutter beneath my ribs.

That Craig wasn’t the same one I knew today. This Craig scared me.

I wondered what he would do when I didn’t show up. How angry he would be. What if he took his anger out on Adam and not me? Could I live with myself if Adam got hurt—or worse—because he got caught up in my past?

But I couldn’t go. Just the thought of starring in some porn made me want to pull over and vomit. Yeah, Craig mentioned it when we were still together. He brought it up more than once. I always told him he was crazy, and he always sort of laughed it off.

But he hadn’t been joking.

One night when he was really drunk and really high, he came home crying. He smelled like cinnamon schnapps, and it made my stomach heave, but even still, I sat with him, close to his side, while he cried about how unworthy he was.

We’d had the same conversation many times.

It didn’t matter how many times I told him he was good enough, that he was worth more than he thought… Turns out you can’t tell someone their own self-worth. They have to feel it for themselves.