Chapter 10 #3
I wasn’t stupid enough to say it. Maybe he wouldn’t run screaming, but he’d regret tonight—crossing the line, every kiss, the way he’d moved in me.
I didn’t want that. Wanted him to feel light and bright and happy, take that into tomorrow and the day after, learn that I could do that for him.
Wanted him to realize that we didn’t have to end when this vacation did.
“Nah,” I said, perhaps a beat too late. “It really couldn’t.”
He reached up to brush his thumb along my cheekbone. “We’re good, right?”
I inhaled and tilted into his touch, but not so much as to tip him off. Smiled. “Yeah. Course we are.”
Morning light trickled in like syrup, thick and sweet behind my closed lids.
I blinked awake, slow, my legs tangled in the linen sheets. They were soft with leftover warmth, but the space beside me was empty. No lazy sprawl of limbs, no tousled head tucked into the pillow—no Dean.
Okay, easy. Could mean lots of things.
The terrace door was cracked open, a line of pale light spilling across the floorboards. Also… coffee? Yes—just a faint whiff but it was there, more than just wishful thinking. So he hadn’t left, then. That was a good sign. Probably.
I rolled onto my stomach, hand flailing a little until my fingers closed around my phone on the bedside table. The screen was a little too bright for my eyes, had me squinting through a text to Rory.
I think I’m in trouble.
Shit—Rory would worry. Tell me to be careful, to protect myself, to think before I jumped. Too late for that, huh?
I deleted the text and thumbed over to my sister Leyla’s name.
I hit that, as instructed. Small catch: might be in love.
This one I sent, then set the phone aside and wished I could do the same with the tiny flare of panic in my chest. In love.
Did I even know what that meant? I’d seen it, yeah—my parents, my oldest brother, a couple of friends.
My sister was more one for passing fancies, and that had been me, too.
It was how this thing with Dean had started.
Maybe I was confused, mistaking it for more than it was?
I thought of the way his fingers had curled into my thighs when he rocked into me, how he’d laughed like a secret and fallen asleep with a heavy arm around my waist. How moonlight had gleamed on the hollow of his throat. How I still felt a faint echo of the marks his nails had left on my skin.
It didn’t feel temporary.
So—okay. I could do this. I could make it light and easy, fake casual until it became real for him, too.
I got up and turned my face into the strip of sunshine, giving myself just a second to settle into this. Light. Easy. No prancing outside naked and draping myself over his lap demanding kisses. Right, got it.
I pulled on a pair of swim shorts and a loose T-shirt, worn and smelling slightly of sunscreen. No shoes. No pressure. Just me.
It’d have to do.
I peeked at him through the open terrace doors—mug in one hand, breakfast for two laid out on the table.
Fruit salad, pastries, an empty cup waiting for me to join him.
He was dressed as well, back to me and shoulders hunched just enough to be noticeable, a breeze ruffling through his hair.
Not running. But not exactly staying either.
Make it easy. Be the thing he wants to reach for, not the thing that scares him.
I slapped on the loosest, laziest grin I could manage, padded across the deck, and dropped into the chair across from him. “Morning.” Light and flirty, as if nothing had changed. “What does a boy have to do to get a coffee around here?”
He glanced at me, brief wariness dancing across his features—followed by a subtle give around his eyes. Relief. “Think you’ve already earned it.”
“Oh?” I tried for a meaningful eyebrow raise and expected to fail at it, like usual.
With a smile, he slid his own mug across the table toward me, fingers brushing mine for a fraction too long. His voice was perfectly casual. “Well, we both worked hard last night.”
“Mm-hmm. Might skip today’s abs workout.”
His laugh felt like a minor victory, proof that I was on the right path.
“Seems only fair,” he said. He poured more coffee for himself, and for a moment, we sat in comfortable silence, gentle heat creeping in around the edges—the rising day and maybe also something about the way he watched me, like he was wondering about the taste of my skin.
I recognized the look from nights out. Except Dean already knew.
“So.” I took a sip, noting the way he glanced at my mouth, then away. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Optional yoga in the morning, beach games in the afternoon.” He sounded pained. “Swim-up bar and barbecue in the evening.”
“More beach games?” I frankly wasn’t eager to spend another afternoon with Tom hovering, so I leaned forward, smiling a little from underneath my lashes. “Want to skip? We could see about a spa treatment or even just lounge around here, read a little, take a swim.” I let my voice dip. “Or a nap.”
He inhaled slowly, then smiled back. “Sounds good. But any social fallout is officially your fault. I’m just the innocent victim here.”
“Innocent, huh?” I let the curve of my mouth go slightly lopsided. “Pretty sure I’ve got a couple of scratches that prove otherwise.”
His laugh was more like a gust of breath, foot lightly nudging against mine. “Hey, if you can’t handle a little enthusiasm…”
“You know I can.”
“That’s what I thought.”
We spent a second watching each other, the ocean spread wide beside us, sunlight slanting over the water and turning it into a sheet of liquid fire.
Seagulls screeched overhead. I chose to break the moment by reaching for a fork and stole a piece of mango from his plate, considered another quip about how fruit enhanced certain, ah, experiences, and decided against it. I didn’t want to push my luck.
Instead, I tucked my foot against Dean’s like it meant nothing, chewed my mango, and pretended that my heart wasn’t beating just a little too hard.