Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
JORDAN
T his is so good!” Hanna’s eyes roll back in pleasure.
I smile as I watch her. In the moments Keenan’s death doesn’t weigh on her, I see her joie de vivre and energetic happiness.
Right now, that happiness is a bacon cheeseburger at a greasy diner we found by the motel where we rented two rooms.
Though I have to admit, the food is unexpectedly good at this diner. It’s tucked away on a stretch of road with nothing else.
“It’s good to see you smiling again,” I say, dragging the last of my fries through some ketchup.
Hanna looks up at me, her blue eyes wide. “Thanks. It’s times like this when I feel almost normal again.”
Her voice is soft, but it’s enough to stir something in me. It’s almost easy to believe that we’re simply two people sharing a meal, not here for heavy reasons.
She takes another bite of her burger before glancing at me. “Do you remember that first camping trip? The one where Keenan tried to make dinner?”
I nod, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Hard to forget. Pretty sure he turned the chicken into a pile of ashes.”
Her laugh comes quickly, bright and easy. “He was so proud of himself. He said it was ‘extra crispy.’”
“Yeah, well, it was extra something,” I reply. “I had to drink half my canteen to choke it down.”
She laughs harder, the sound bubbling out of her like it’s been waiting all day. This is the Hanna I remember—always happy and positive.
Her laughter draws my attention to the soft curve of her throat and the way her hair catches the light as it falls over her shoulder. My mind fills with fantasies I shouldn’t have. What would Keenan say if he knew what I was thinking now? Of how I want to see her silky brown hair spread out over the pillow next to mine every morning and night for the rest of my days?
I know he would want me to look after Hanna. But would he be okay with making her mine?
We stand in front of my truck at the motel, a sudden awkwardness in the air between us. It should be easy to call it a night and be done with it, but I don’t want Hanna to walk into a different room. I want to reach for her, pull her into my arms, and tell her everything she needs to hear. But I stay where I am, my hands clenched into fists against my thighs.
“I think I’m going to turn in,” she says, glancing toward the door to her room.
I nod. “Yeah. Good idea.”
She tenses slightly as I hug her before returning the embrace, though it feels like she’s holding back. I watch as she enters her room and closes the door, the lock snicking securely.
I should have followed her. Said something. Done something. But what would I say?
Eventually, I go to my room, shaking out my arms in a vain attempt to release some of the tension that’s been building inside me.
The motel walls are shockingly thin, and my chest tightens as I hear her moving around in her room. I imagine her lying in bed, her breaths soft and even, her face relaxed in sleep. My groin stiffens, and I instinctively stroke myself, wanting release.
I could pump my cock for a quick release while visions of Hanna filled my imagination, but it wouldn’t be enough. Only Hanna in my arms and bed would satisfy me because I know the reality would be exponentially better than any fantasy.
If only this could be enough—being close without feeling like my soul will implode if I can’t love her the way I yearn to.
But it isn’t enough. Being on the periphery of her life will never be enough.
I swear I’ve seen desire in her eyes. Is it real? Could she let me into her heart?