Ruin Me Read Online Free Page A

sure about this?” he asks.
    I nod, still focused on his mouth.
    When he leans in and kisses me…shit, I don’t know. People talk about melting and that’s how it feels, honest to God. My bones go soft and my body warms and if I wasn’t held in place between a truck and a solid wall of man, I bet I’d fall over. I feel those big, rough palms on my jaw and he angles his head and kisses me deep, filling me with his tongue and his heat and his noises. And he can kiss . My hands flap around, unsure of where to go until I settle them flat against his chest on his black fleece jacket. I feel and hear him groan when I kiss back and it triggers something in me. I pull his zipper down and run my palms over his work shirt, so tempted to rip it open and scatter his buttons all over the asphalt.
    He tastes like beer and impatience. His fingers tangle in my hair, hands covering my ears so it sounds as if we’re underwater. I stand on my tiptoes and press myself against him and he’s warm and sturdy and goddamn if he’s not hard for me. I slide one palm down between us, pausing at his belt, needing some natural disaster to stop me from groping him.
    Instead there’s a flare of music as someone exits the bar. We both freeze then pull away as an engine starts a few cars down. Patrick releases my head and pushes me back a pace by the shoulders before cramming his hands in his pockets. I meet his eyes and they look as wild as my own feel. I move away a little more and the car swings out, washing us in its headlight beams.
    I clear my throat. “Friday at seven?”
    He nods. He puts his hand on my back between my shoulder blades and steers me to my car. He watches me climb inside. He waves at me as I start to reverse and I wave back. I wonder if sexual frustration exacerbates blood-alcohol level. It sure feels that way. If I get pulled over on the short drive between here and my house I’ll have to say, “I had only two beers in two hours, officer, but then I made out with a lumberjack. You know how it is.”
    I don’t get pulled over, though, and after a minute or two I feel perfectly sober if a bit suddenly exhausted.
    One thing that both surprises and relieves me when I get home is how I feel about Jay. There he is, sitting on the couch with a copy of Wired on a pillow in his lap, TV tuned to a basketball game. And I’m attracted to him, just like always. Nothing about it feels diminished. Not cheapened, not weaker compared to what I felt with Patrick. It feels the same, except now there’s a deep vein of gratitude running through it. He stands and I dump my coat and bag and walk over and hug him—hard. He’s wearing my favorite sweater of his, soft merino wool that smells musty in the best way.
    He strokes my hair. “How did it go?”
    I sigh and sit back on the cushions and he mutes the television.
    “It went pretty well.”
    “Did anything happen?”
    I nod. “Not a lot. Do you want to hear about it, or should I just keep it to myself?”
    “No, I want to know,” Jay says. “This is part of our sex life, I think. I want to feel like there’s a place in it for me.”
    I feel my brows rise; impressed or skeptical, I’m not sure which. Sometimes his reasoning is like magic to me.
    “Okay,” I say. “Well, we split a pitcher and sort of flirted and then I kissed him. In the parking lot. We made out. It was pretty nice,” I admit, and smile, sheepish.
    He nods. “How do you feel now?”
    “I feel…I feel calmer. And satisfied.”
    “Do you think that’s all you needed?”
    I look around the living room with an ugly, selfish pang of anger. I hate the feeling and I tramp it down. I don’t have any right to feel as though Jay’s out to spoil my fun.
    “I couldn’t tell you yet,” I say. “But right now I feel pretty…sated.” That word sounds stupid in my ears, as if it was never meant to be used in conversation.
    Jay pats my knee, looking thoughtful. “Okay.”
    “How do you feel?”
    “I feel all