Into the Tomorrows (Bleeding Hearts Book 1) by Whitney Barbetti

Author:Whitney Barbetti [Barbetti, Whitney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whitney Barbetti
Published: 2016-06-15T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

When I walked into the kitchen, it was after nine and Jude was at the stove, his back to me. He wasn’t wearing a shirt again, and my eyes traveled over the muscles of his back and the ink that wrapped around his body. The heat that filled me annoyed me. I didn’t want to find him as sexy as I did. Because he was—so unbelievably sexy. Everything about him, down to the way he moved his hands illuminated the heat in me.

My boyfriend should be causing this reaction. But instead, a man who had kissed me on the roof of the apartment we shared with my boyfriend made my insides melt in a puddle of lust.

I wasn’t sure what to say. We’d left things in a weird place the night before, and I didn’t know how to move on from what had happened on the roof.

“Good morning,” he said without turning. His good arm picked up a skillet and moved it back and forth. “I’m making eggs, if you want any.”

“That’d be great,” I said tentatively, slowly sitting at the counter.

He shut off the burner with a click and turned around. I couldn’t look at his face, into his eyes. So my gaze landed on his left arm and traced the trees that grew from his wrist to his elbow.

“So. Do you want to talk about it?”

Startled, I looked quickly back at the hallway where Colin could come from any second. “No. I don’t.”

I saw him nod out of my periphery and couldn’t bring myself to meet his steady gaze.

“Do you like ketchup on your eggs?”

I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “No, thanks.”

He placed a plate of steaming eggs in front of me. I reached for a fork that wasn’t there, and it was then that I finally looked up at him. He was holding the fork, inches from my face, waiting for me to look at him.

“Good morning,” he repeated, now that we were looking right at one another.

“Good morning, Jude,” I said, aching to sound unaffected. There was a knowing look in his eyes, something that told me we wouldn’t be able to brush this aside as much as I wanted to.

I took the fork from him. “Thank you.”

He braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward, so our faces were only about a foot apart.

“That’s…” I said, but the word was sticky in my throat. “That can’t be good for your shoulder.”

His eyes were dark, not in anger but from what looked like a lack of sleep. He waited a beat, and then another before he shrugged, not wincing at all. “I do a lot of things that aren’t good for me,” he said, and I remembered immediately how he’d said that to me before.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked as if I couldn’t tell from the circles under his eyes.

“No.” He remained a foot from me, and though it intimidated me a little, having him so close to me, I refused to let it show.

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