It took Tex a second to get it.

She wrinkled her nose. “No bulks for you, huh?”

I shrugged. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like to treat my companion to a good time that includes no-strings-attached or unexpected trips to the pharmacy.”

“Such a fine gentleman.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And to think I always pegged you as a surly ass.”

“I am.”

“Not with me.”

She wasn’t wrong. Maybe that was why I couldn’t keep away from her, even when every bone in my body (other than my boner) begged me to.

“You remind me of how I was before.” I pretended to wipe invisible dust from my Ducati to do something with my hand.

“Before what?”

“Before everything.”

We stared at each other. Church bells rang in the distance. She took her ball cap off, clutching it between her fingers in her lap. Even though no words were spoken, I knew she was inviting me in.

I took a step.

Then another one.

She didn’t stop me.

By the time I got to her, my toes touching hers through our shoes, we were both breathless.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” she croaked, tilting her face up. It was the most I’d ever seen of her face. Still full of makeup, but sans the ball cap, the sun sinking its claws inside her skin.

I took her hands in mine.

“Let’s find out together.”

It was the first time I’d been inside Grace’s room. Her grandmother sat in front of the TV, half-napping, half-cursing at VH1 for their poor video clips choices. She looked about as static as the sound coming from the monitor, but pointing it out to Grace seemed counterproductive. Not only for the blood-filled salami between my legs, but also because Tex seemed adamant not to send Mrs. Shaw to a nursing home.

Texas’ room was exactly what I would have expected from Grace Shaw before her scars: peach-colored walls filled with pictures of herself with her grandmother and groups of smiling, wholesome friends. White embodied linen, pompoms, and tickets to plays and movies she’d gone to pinned onto a board along with handwritten letters. It didn’t escape me that her room was in fairly good condition and probably redone after the fire.

She’d wanted to keep being the person she’d been before.

Had hoped that would be the case, which made her tragedy so much more painful.

Grace Shaw was the exact opposite of me.

I tore apart everything that resembled my life pre-tragedy. She held on to hers for dear life, refusing to let go.

I stood in her room, waiting for her to come upstairs while she checked in with Mrs. S. She appeared at the door holding two glasses of iced tea. I didn’t know when or how, but she’d managed to put even more makeup on her face between the time we rode home and now.

Tex went ham with the foundation. It looked like she had an extra face, and I couldn’t imagine it was better than the real thing. Plus, that damn ball cap was on again.

We stood there staring at each other.

“Hi,” she said again, nervous. “Maine.”

“Texas.”

“How do you like our weather?”

What the fuck were we talking about? I was only half-sure.

I swallowed. “It’s very fine.”

I took a step closer.

She stayed put.

I took another step closer.

The swell of her breasts rose as her breath hitched. I was throbbing so hard, I felt my pulse in my dick.

I reached for her, tossing her ball cap to the floor.

I felt like that John Mayer song they played to death on the radio a few years back. “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.” Everything was urgent, yet agonizingly slow.

We were toe-to-toe now. She didn’t back away. I clasped her chin between my thumb and index, tilting her head up.

“Trust me?”

She nodded, her throat bobbing. I caught her lips in a blistering kiss. It was deep and slow and methodical and different from every kiss I’d ever had. I curled my fingers over the hem of her shirt, jerking her close, until we were flush against each other.

Grace kissed me back, gasping, trying to catch her breath. When her fingers fumbled for my zipper, I raised her shirt, one inch at a time. I wasn’t nervous about what was waiting under it. But I knew she didn’t feel the same.

When I hiked her shirt up to her ribs, Texas stopped my hands from climbing upward, slapping one of my hands away. I raised both my palms up in surrender. She broke the kiss off, taking a step back.

“Sorry.” She chuckled. “Maybe …” She hugged her midriff, tucking her left cheek shyly to her shoulder. “Maybe we can just do it with our clothes on? I mean, you can take yours off. And I’ll take off my pants, obviously …” She closed her eyes, turning beet-red under her makeup. “You won’t mind, right? I guess you hardly have time to undress your hookups at the Plaza …”

“Don’t,” I barked, feeling my nostrils flaring. “Apples and oranges.”

She winced.

Deciding to change tactics, I toed my boots off, then my socks. I pulled down my jeans and briefs in one go, standing in her room completely naked from the waist down. Just me and my raging hard-on, both of us staring pointedly at her.

Her eyes widened.

“Umm, okay? This was sudden …”

“Shirt off, baby,” I ordered in a low growl. A tone I was familiar with, that was all me. She narrowed her eyes at me.

“I told you it made me uncomfortable. Why do you insist on it?”

“Because you’re under the impression whatever I’m going to see is going to be a turn-off for me, and what better way of proving how mistaken you are than by showing you.” I pointed at my throbbing cock. It was purple and swollen. So erect, I doubted I had blood left in other parts of my body. Hell, if I cut my wrist open, I’d probably bleed bone.

“That’s not an experiment I’d like to take part in.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to flick the bean to get off.” I crouched—yes, without my goddamn pants on—making a show of picking up my jeans.

“Wait!”

I froze mid-action, smiling to myself with my head bowed down.

“You won’t … we won’t do it if I don’t show you my scars?”

I straightened my spine, licking my lips as I took off my shirt, now standing butt naked. That was better. Nothing felt quite as emasculating as standing partly naked in front of someone (though buying one midday showing ticket to a Kate Hudson flick came in close).

The things this chick makes me do.

“That’s right. Tit for tat. I’m naked. You’re naked. That’s the equation.”

She stared up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “It ain’t pretty. The left side of me anyway.”

“Every part of you is lickable. Nothing is going to change it. Especially your battle scars. Now get naked before I faint from lack of blood.”

She hesitated before removing her shirt in one rapid flick. She unclasped her bra then squeezed her eyes shut, wincing as she awaited my verdict, standing very still in front of me.

I stroked my cock, drinking in every inch of her torso. Her stomach was flat, her tits pear-shaped and bouncy. Her nipples were tiny, perfect for my mouth, and pebbled. The left side of her body was marred from the fire. Uneven, angry stains of red and purple wove across her skin like a painting.