I smoothed my hands down her arms. “But you already dealt with things. Isn’t that what going back to Arden Hills was about?”

“It was the first step of many. The memorial service, while awful at the time, helped in some ways, and the estate has been taken care of. But the rest of it . . . I still harbor a lot of guilt. It’s going to take time for me to let go of that.”

The guilt I understood. That lecture from my dad played out in a constant loop some nights. If I’d made different choices, they might still be alive. If my parents hadn’t been so concerned about my sneaking out, they would have stayed at their function longer the night they died. Instead they came home early and were shot to death in their bed. While I was out getting wasted with Damen.

I regarded Tenley with skepticism. “Won’t talking about it just bring up all the crap?”

“Probably, yes. But I can’t just keep it all inside and let it fester.”

I didn’t comment. Seven years later I was still angry; still shut down in a lot of ways; still pushing boundaries.

“Anyway, that wasn’t where I was going with this. I’m not sure how cases like your parents’ work, but shouldn’t there be a file or something you can access? Maybe there are public records?”

“There might be. I’ve never looked into it.”

“Wouldn’t the local police have information?”

I scoffed. “Yeah, and they were superhelpful when all that shit went down. You’ve met that dick Cross. He’s the reason everything got fucked up in the first place.”

“There must have been other officers working the case, though. Maybe it’s worth looking into. It might give you some peace.”

Her argument made sense. Doing something proactive would be better than reading the same damn articles over and over, getting nowhere but deeper into my own head.

“Can we drop the subject?” I asked.

“Of course—I didn’t mean to push you. Do you want to talk about something else?”

She had one arm draped around my shoulder, her fingers gliding up and down the back of my neck, into my hairline. It felt good. Better than good, actually.

“I don’t feel like talking anymore.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you want some space? I can go back to my place—”

“No. I don’t want that, either.”

I pulled her closer and she shifted a little, her ass settling in the dip between my legs. My cock swelled, sensing the proximity of the Promised Land. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. Instead, the fingers of her free hand began tracing the ink on my arm. Starting at my wrist, she followed the vines to the bleeding heart into the bend of my elbow, where the flowers exploded into life.

She made no attempt to go beyond where the short-sleeve shirt ended. After our conversation in the car—where I pretty much threw a shit fit over her leaving and laid all my cards on the table—she hadn’t pushed for anything. She was more than happy to sit around my place without so much as a make-out session.

Even in bed she was all PG, wearing lots of clothing, avoiding positions that might encourage important-body-part contact. In the morning when I spooned with her and my stupid ass hard-on jabbed into her low back, or on the really great days when it nestled against the cleft of her ass, she didn’t press against it. It was driving me up the fucking wall. I had no idea where to draw the line, and the longer I waited, the more I wanted to tromp all over it. If she’d just start something, then I’d have the excuse I needed to keep going. That way I could have the connection I was desperate for, in the only way I knew how to get it.

I pulled her in tighter, my hand moving down to her bare upper thigh. Then I shifted my hips up, a furtive attempt at a little friction. Tenley’s fingers stilled and her head lifted from my chest. I met her questioning gaze with a forlorn one of my own. I should have asked Lisa what the fucking time frame was supposed to be. I had no clue.

Tenley’s fingers were on the move again. They drifted up my arm over my shoulder to my neck, skimming my jaw until they were no longer tracing tattoos, but the curve of my lip. I parted them and she took the invitation. Her thumb slipped inside my mouth. I bit down and sucked, feeling the smooth ridge of her nail and the warmth of her skin. Pulling free, she replaced her thumb with her lips, the softest brush of skin against skin. She kept coming back, kisses drawing out, becoming deeper.

When she slowly shifted around, giving me ample opportunity to stop her, I didn’t. Instead I urged her to part her legs and straddle me. That wet heat was only an inch away from where I needed it to be now, though fabric impeded direct contact. Tenley’s ass was like a magnet for my hands and they went there immediately, gripping the soft, pliant flesh.

My dick was so fucking ecstatic. If it had hands, it would have torn right through my scrubs, moved those pathetic shorts of hers aside, and dived right in. Instead it punched helplessly at the fabric, and I made a pained sound because my balls were so tight, they were on the verge of exploding.

When her hands glided down my chest to the hem of my shirt, I caught her wrists by reflex.

“This doesn’t have to lead to sex,” she said. “I could just make you feel good. Would you let me do that?”

My mouth worked independently of my brain, probably because all the blood in my body was currently pooled in the appendage all snug and cozy between Tenley’s legs. “I don’t know if—I want—”

“We’re adults, Hayden. We don’t have to stay stalled out in first gear forever. We can go as far as you’re comfortable with. You tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

As if it were that easy.

Our palms connected. Then she pressed her lips against the back of my hand. When I didn’t stop her, Tenley bit down on a knuckle and gave it a wet kiss. A promise of what was to come should I relent on my own inane restrictions.

She guided my hands to rest on her upper thighs, right below the hem of her shorts. Her mouth moved across my jaw until she reached my lips. Her tongue met mine in a leisurely sweep, over and over, until I was lulled into a sense of false security that we weren’t going to take this any further. Her fingers traveled up and down my forearms at the same languid pace, then went lower and dipped under the hem of my shirt. I stiffened.

“I just want to see you. I miss looking at you.” When she put it that way, it seemed like a reasonable request.

I raised my arms and she drew my shirt over my head. Tenley folded it neatly and set it on the arm of the couch. She started at my shoulders, smoothing her hands down my chest, over my stomach, and back up again. After that, her fingers went to work tracing my ink. Her exploration was slow to the point of painful, but I didn’t complain. Her touch was exactly what I needed; the thing I’d been denied for so long. I couldn’t remember why I thought it made sense to prolong the misery.

And then she went lower.

My grip tightened on her thighs.

She peeked up at me through her lashes. “You don’t want me to touch you? But you’re so hard.”

Talking about how hard I was did not help my resolve.

“Please? You’re like this all the time. It must be torture. I could make it better.”

I couldn’t deny the truth in what she said. I was always hard around her. It sucked to have perpetual blue balls.

She shifted forward, her hot, cotton-covered pussy settled right over my erection. She ground her hips in a slow circle. Her lips moved from my shoulder, up my neck to my ear, and she whispered, “I just want to touch.”

She brushed over the outline of my straining cock and I had no will to stop her. All I could think about was how good it would feel when it wasn’t my own shitty hand doing the work.

Her nails were longer than I’d ever seen them, the white tips filed in a gentle curve. As she released the tie on my scrubs, I watched with mind-numbing anticipation. I’d never before been this excited about a goddamn hand job. Once the tie was undone, Tenley’s hand slipped inside the waistband.