Best Kind of Broken Read online

  He leans closer, and the steam from the shower surrounds us like we’re in our own private cloud. Right here, right now, yesterday, tomorrow—whenever he’s near—I feel safe. Safe and loved. Because that’s exactly what I am, even if he doesn’t know it. Even if I don’t deserve it.

  I lean in closer too, not seeing anything other than Levi’s body and a swirling cloud of hot fog.

  Our faces are so close together I can feel each of his exhales sweeping over my cheeks. The silver flecks in his eyes glisten in the droplets falling all around us, reflecting off the white shower walls. The spray drowns out all other noise and makes it seem as though we’re enclosed in our own little white rainstorm.

  I trace my eyes along his scruffy face, taking in the small dark hairs that dust his jawline and match the color of his long eyelashes. Then my gaze roves over his full lips, and I absently lick my own.

  And then he kisses me.

  Like he was born to do it, like everything about him knows exactly how to kiss me. His lips fit to mine perfectly, and it’s nothing like our first kiss.

  It’s desperate and starving, and blindly passionate, as we crush our mouths together in the white downpour.

  I kiss him back like he’s my very last breath, like I’d die without him—and maybe I would. I part my lips and our tongues meet, sliding over slick textured surfaces, as they dance and wiggle and taste and lick. And it’s just… so… perfect.

  I rise up on my tiptoes, trying to pull his mouth into mine because he’s too far away. His tongue glides along the soft flesh inside my mouth. He’s still too far away. I bring my hand to the back of his neck and tangle my fingers in his hair, tugging and making a noise of protest because I’m so damn short and can’t reach him the way I want.

  He grabs my hips and steps into the shower with me. Running his large hands down the back of my body, he lifts me up and presses me against the cool shower wall. I wrap my legs around his waist, my butt sitting in his hands as our hips push against one another.

  And oh. God. Yes.

  I’m eager and feisty and suddenly I’m like a kissing machine, just all hungry and frantic, and I’m making these moaning noises that would probably be embarrassing if I wasn’t so freaking turned on.

  He pulls back and tilts his head to the other side before bringing his mouth back to mine, sucking on my lower lip before giving his tongue back to me.

  My hands are gripping his white T-shirt, which is now completely soaked, and I’m pulling at the collar for no reason other than I just need to pull something. But the collar of the shirt is wet and loose and my clenched fist has yanked it down so Levi’s collarbone and top pec muscle are completely exposed, and there’s this dirty little piece of me that wants to sink my teeth into the bare patch of skin.

  My God. I must be part vampire.

  And when the hell did I get so horny?

  And then I realize. It’s not that I’m suddenly horny; it’s that I’m with Levi. And here in his arms I can be Pixie, damaged and flawed, wet and dirty, and it’s okay. We’re okay.

  One of his hands leaves my butt and runs up my rib cage, his thumb pressing into the indentations between each rib, my skin soft and giving. His hand moves higher and cups my breast over the thin wet cotton of my shirt, gently squeezing. I move my hips against him, desperate for more of his touch, and he responds by brushing his thumb over the hard tip of my nipple. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  I moan with each swipe of his thumb, and muscles low in my belly tighten in response. He palms my breast again and shifts against me. God, he’s hard. And thick. And hot. And so many things I want to feel inside my now-aching body.

  His palm moves down to my leg. His fingertips burn a trail of want into my skin as he runs his hand up the back of my thigh to where my butt cheek is completely exposed—because my white shorts have ridden up and are now acting more like a thong than running shorts—and grabs my naked ass, pressing harder against me.

  And he’s kissing me—God, he’s kissing me—like he’s starving, and I’m just kissing and rocking and rubbing and, hell, everything my body wants to do against his.

  I move my hands to his back and under the hem of his shirt. His back muscles are hard and thick beneath my fingertips, rippling with his movement, as I start to pull his shirt up. He shifts against me, and I’ve never been more excited in my life. For real.

  The wet shower has nothing on me.

  His mouth moves to my jaw—yes—and then my neck—oh God—and then he has his teeth running along my collarbone while his hand rounds my leg and glides up the inside of my thigh and—holy hell! This boy knows his way around my body.

  He slides his hand up under my shorts until he’s cupping the naked V between my legs with his warm palm. I whimper in ecstasy as my body responds to his hot touch and grows more slippery as he begins to slide his fingers along parts of my body that really, really like being touched.

  He kisses and sucks at my throat and chest as he slowly eases a finger inside my tight body while that clever thumb of his continues to slip and slide over my most sensitive spot. I squirm against him because I want more—need more—so much more. He slowly withdraws his finger and I whine and gasp in protest until he pushes it back in, all the while working his thumb against my hot, wet flesh.

  I wiggle, I moan, I gasp, I beg as Levi kisses me and groans hot breaths of desire against my skin. He adds a second finger to the first and fills me thickly, pushing in and out of me as he increases the heavenly movement of his thumb.

  My body begins to tighten and shake, my thighs quivering around his hips as he works me to the brink of sweet death, and I tip my head back, completely blind to everything but the white rainstorm. Then I cry out with pleasure as my body completely unravels and gives in to the magic of Levi’s hand.

  My insides pulse as Levi brings his lips to mine and kisses me deeply. I whimper against his mouth, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands from falling off as I struggle to claw my way down his shirt and to the waistband of his shorts. I want to rip them off and fill my body with his until this blissful yet wanting hollow inside me purrs with satisfaction.

  He kisses along my collarbone. I yank on his waistband. He pulls at my tank top—

  And then the fire alarm goes off.

  We both freeze. The drill.

  The fire drill is today.

  For a moment, we stay pressed together, breathing heavily against each other in the steam, our wet clothes warming between us.

  But reality moves in fast, pushing through the haze. I’ve already made my decision. I am irrevocably and shamelessly interested in having Levi’s body inside mine. Levi, on the other hand, has pulled his head back from my collarbone and is looking into my eyes.

  Not my eyes. Don’t look at my eyes.

  If he sees me, he’ll remember, and if he remembers—

  “Shit.” He pulls back, remorse and hatred in his eyes, and I want to scream.

  But I don’t. I stay where I am, pushed up against the wall with Levi’s erection pressing against the still-quaking center of my body, and act like this is all just run-of-the-mill for me.

  What’s that now? Oh, no. I do this all the time. I’m always humping guys in the shower with my pj’s on.

  He gently lowers me to my feet; then he turns away.

  He leaves the bathroom, the fire alarm still blaring, and I sink down to the shower floor, letting the water spray down on me as a shiver runs through my body.

  It’s the first hot shower I’ve had in days and I’m in my clothes, out of breath, and cold as hell.

  30

  Levi

  It was a false alarm, the fire drill. The feeling of belonging when Pixie had her arms around me.

  I don’t bother explaining my wet clothes as I slosh downstairs to turn off the shrieking noise. Guests everywhere are fussing around, overreacting to the excitement.

  Ellen’s in the lobby, assuring everyone that there is no fire as she leads them out back, per ala
rm protocol. “This is just a drill,” she explains. People hear this, but they still want to chat about the near-death experience they just had.

  The only person in the whole place who just had a near-death experience was me. I almost died in the shower just now with Pixie on fire in my arms and my selfish body just burning alive with her.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Never mind. I know what I was thinking.

  Why the hell did I give in?

  Never mind. I know that too.

  But that doesn’t make it right. And if I’m trying to atone for anything in my life, I’m certainly not going to find my salvation with the one person who should resent my very existence.

  I walk to the back hall, passing by flustered guests who stare at me and my sopping clothes like I’m a crazy person, to the system control box and turn the alarm off.

  There is an audible sigh of relief, a brief moment of silence, and then the chaos erupts again. More chatter about the “great fire” that didn’t happen as people file out the back door.

  I walk over to Ellen, who eyes me up and down. Her gaze lingers on my very stretched-out wet shirt collar and she raises a brow.

  I don’t explain.

  She looks around. “Where’s Pixie?”

  Like we’re supposed to travel in pairs or something.

  “How should I know?” And shit, I said that with a ferocity that was only going to raise questions.

  “You two share the same wing, Levi,” she says. “What if there was a fire and she was trapped in it? The purpose of a drill is to practice being safe. Did you even look for her before you came downstairs?”

  First of all, fuck that.

  I would never leave Pixie to die. I might leave her wet and shaking in a hot shower with her clothes on, but I sure as hell wouldn’t leave her at the mercy of a fire.

  Second, whoa.

  If Ellen doesn’t know me well enough to know that I’d never let anyone—especially Pixie—die, then I should be shot dead on the spot.

  I open my mouth to retort to Ellen in a very offensive and curse-filled way, when I catch the teasing glimmer in her eye.

  Damn women.

  “Pixie’s fine,” I say.

  Ellen looks me up and down again. “You sure about that?”

  Wow. I’m never living in a building filled with females ever again. They think they know everything.

  “I’m sure,” I say. “Do you need help with anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Right, then. I’ll make sure everyone has evacuated.” I search the inn for any leftover guests, careful to avoid the east wing.

  After the chaos dies down, I go back upstairs, taking my sweet time so I don’t accidentally run into Pixie. When I reach the top, I grab some clothes from my room and head to the bathroom.

  Pixie is gone and the bathroom doesn’t smell like lavender, so I’m assuming she didn’t stick around for very long after I left her in the water. The mirror is still fogged up, though.

  My chest tightens as I turn on the shower.

  I need a cold shower, which apparently won’t be a problem because all the hot water is gone.

  31

  Pixie

  I sneak down to the laundry room while Levi’s in the shower, carrying my wet pajamas in my hand. I don’t know why, but I’m wearing the most hideous clothes I own—a pair of plaid sweatpants and a large gray T-shirt that has a ripped collar and a grease stain on the front.

  I’m heavily clothed, but I’m still cold.

  When I arrive, I’m sure I’m safe because Ellen never comes to the tiny laundry room in the west wing. Never.

  “Hi, Pix,” Ellen says behind me, and I want to cuss.

  “Hi,” I say in a far-too-cheery voice as I turn around. I try to tuck my wet clothes under my arm without drawing attention to the obvious wet mark they’re branding onto my stupid gray T-shirt.

  Ellen sees the clothes and smiles at me. “Doing laundry?”

  I nod.

  “With only”—she looks down—“two items?”

  “Yep.” I nod. “I’m just trying to stay on top of things. These are my favorite pajamas. And I washed them in the sink to conserve energy.”

  Okay, clearly, I suck at lying—Ellen knows this. And really, Pixie? Giving three excuses about why your clothes are wet when she didn’t even ask is a dead giveaway.

  I pinch my lips together.

  Ellen stares me down. “Spill it.”

  “No.”

  “Spill it.”

  “No.” I throw my two items in the washing machine and cross my arms. I’m an impenetrable wall. I’m a fortress of silence. I’m—

  “Does this have something to do with Levi?”

  “Yes.”

  Damn. I suck at being a fortress.

  “Want to talk about it?” Ellen leans against the doorway and drapes her dark hair over her shoulder.

  “No. I don’t want to talk about it. I want Levi to talk about it. I want him to look at me and stop seeing Charity and all the sadness and I want him to let himself love me again.” I’m totally talking about it, but now I can’t stop. “I mean, what the hell? He and Charity were my best friends. They were my whole life, and then Charity died and Levi just… just left me! And now it’s like we’re totally different people.” I say this loudly and realize I’m about to cry. “We’re not the same anymore. We’re not Levi and Pixie, Transformer and Barbie. We’re not the Three Musketeers with dreams and futures. Charity is dead and my heart is lost and Levi is a mess and I don’t… I don’t… I don’t…”

  I start crying and Ellen pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair in a way my own mother would never have done. “I don’t know how to love him anymore,” I say into Ellen’s soft shirt as tears spill from my eyes.

  She squeezes me. “Sure you do. Love doesn’t just stop, Pixie. It’s always there.”

  I pull away and wipe at my face, frustrated for crying. “But he feels so far away from me. I just want him back. But I’m so…” I search for the word. “I’m so angry with him. For abandoning me. For letting me hurt without him. For forgetting me.”

  She shakes her head. “He didn’t forget you.”

  “He did.”

  “No. He was just hurting, Pix. Levi lost a lot after the accident. He lost Charity, and then he lost his parents—”

  “But he didn’t lose me.” My voice cracks.

  Ellen bites her lip and waits a beat. “Maybe he doesn’t know that.” She pauses. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

  “I can’t.” I shake my head, and a wild blonde curl falls into my eyes. “I can’t. We’re so messed up. I don’t think it would even matter if I did. We’re just too broken.”

  Ellen tilts her head and looks me over sympathetically. She tucks the loose curl behind my ear and lightly brushes my cheek with her finger. Then she smiles softly. “There’s no such thing as too broken. Anything can heal.” She kisses my forehead and wraps her arms around me. “Especially you.”

  32

  Levi

  I need to move.

  I can’t sleep one door away from Pixie anymore—especially after feeling her up in the shower yesterday. I just can’t do it.

  Last night, I stared at my ceiling all night long, telling myself that if I ever tried to touch Pixie again, I was going to kill myself. And then I spent the next few hours staring at the ceiling, thinking of whether or not I actually could kill myself, and came to the conclusion that, no, I couldn’t, because then Pixie would be at the mercy of douche bags like Daren and dirty old men like Earl and I was not cool leaving her in a world where Darens and Earls could look at her without the threat of me.

  And then I stared at the ceiling and thought of all the ways I would hurt Daren and Earl if they ever tried to touch Pixie, which led to a very dark train of thought involving plastic bags and bleach.

  So obviously, I need to move.

  I shake myself as I walk downstairs and into the lobby. Enough
thinking about Pixie.

  Looking out the front windows of the inn, I see a familiar car pull into the parking lot, and my hands go numb.

  Sandra Marshall.

  Pixie’s mother, Ellen’s sister, and hater of me.

  I watch Sandra exit the car and head for the front doors.

  This is not good.

  33

  Pixie

  A quiet knock on my door has me leaping out of bed, thinking maybe it’s Levi. We haven’t spoken since our couples shower yesterday, and my nerves are pretty much shot from the silence.

  But when I open my door, I see Ellen.

  “Hey.” I smile at her and try not to look disappointed.

  “Hey…” Her facial expression goes crooked for a moment, and I know—I just know—my mother is here.

  “Oh, no.” I beg her with my eyes, Save me.

  She makes a face of helplessness, and we both cringe when my mother’s voice drifts up the stairs from the lobby.

  “Why, Haley, how are you?” Oh God. My mother hates Haley. She hates Haley with a passion. Run, poor woman. Run for your life.

  “Hello, Sandra.” Haley’s voice is polite and friendly.

  “Fell off the diet again, I see?” my mom says. “Well, at least curvy suits you. You’ve never been one for the lean look.”

  “Mom!” I holler down the stairs, moving from my room, not caring that I’m still wearing my hideous pajamas from the day before. I need to spare Haley any further abuse.

  When I see the woman who gave birth to me, I plaster on a smile so fake I think it might crack my face open.

  “Hi there!” I say.

  “Hello, darling.” She gives me a fake smile as well. “I have a box of your old things at the house. You should come pick it up before I throw it away.” She lifts one overplucked eyebrow. “What are you wearing?”

  I look down. “Pajamas.”

  “Ellen!” my mother yells at my aunt, who has followed me down the stairs and is now standing behind me. “Is this how you let your employees dress?”

  Always so casual with my mother, Ellen shrugs. “She’s not on the clock yet, Sandy. She woke up five minutes ago.”