Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
As soon as his eyes meet mine, he tips his head down until our foreheads touch. His sweet breath dances at my lips, but he doesn't kiss me. He just rests there, watching me intently.
"What's wrong?" I run my hands through his sweaty hair, playing at his nape. The muscles in his shoulders and upper back are rock-hard with tension.
"I may have to leave soon," he says.
My heart stutters in my chest at his words.
"Oh," I manage to say.
For the past few days, I've refused to think about what happens when our time here runs out. He has a career. I have to find a place to live and a job since I no longer have either. Since the beginning, there's been an expiration date on my time with Roman in Santa Cruz, a clock counting down in the background. But I've spent the last few days pretending it didn't exist because I didn't want to think about the inevitable end of our time together. Now that I know what it feels like to be his, I don't want this to be over. Being with him makes me happy. He makes me happy.
"What are you thinking?" he asks quietly, studying me again.
Five days ago, I wouldn't have told him the truth. But that was then, and it's different now. We're different now. I don't know what we are exactly, but we aren't an interlude.
"Two weeks isn't enough," I whisper, feeling a little like I might cry at the thought of letting him go.
"I know." His voice is thick as he runs his hands up and down my back. He's trying to comfort me, I think. "I don't have a choice, though, baby." He sighs and then curses. "Shit is spiraling out of control."
"Your case," I guess. He's told me about some of what he does for the ATF. I don't know everything, but I know enough to be worried for him.
"Yeah." He sighs again and then reaches for my loofah.
I grab my body wash from behind him and hold it out. Neither of us says anything as he dumps the soap onto the loofah and lathers it up.
"Will you tell me?" I ask when he starts washing me, his big hands gentle on my body.
His eyes meet mine again. "Do you want to know?"
I nod, though I'm not sure if he'll tell me or not. He doesn't like to talk about his job with me. He says he wants to protect me from what he does…but I want every piece of him. Even the scary, work-related parts.
"The cartel we've been dealing with tried to kill a DEA agent a few days ago," he says and then pauses to gauge my reaction.
I try to stay still and quiet, schooling my expression so he doesn't see the fear his words send pulsing through me. When his lips touch my forehead, I know he's seen it anyway. I don't know how he does it, but he always seems to know exactly where my head is at. Since the day I met him, he's seen me more clearly than anyone else ever has.
"They were manufacturing a new drug," he continues quietly. "We think they're going to try to get it to Guerrero and el Demonio in LA and then move it across the border into Francisco's territory. If the drug makes it to Francisco, things are going to get bad. People are going to die. Potentially a lot of people."
I'm not sure what to say to that, so I just say, "Oh."
"I may not have a choice but to go back."
He sounds like he's apologizing to me, and I don't like that. His job is important. Keeping people safe and alive is important. I would never hold that against him. Not ever. If he has to go back, he has to go back. There's no question about that. But maybe he doesn't have to go back to Los Angeles alone….
I have a job interview in LA in ten days. He thinks it's in Berkeley, and I let him believe that because I know how important it is to him to keep the people he cares about away from the people who want to hurt him. He's spent years keeping Tahani out of LA to keep her safe. But two weeks with him isn't enough, and I'm not ready to let this—to let us—go.
"I have to tell you something," I whisper, biting my lip as he runs the loofah up and down my back in soothing passes.
He looks at me expectantly.
"Um, my interview isn't in Berkeley."
Confusion sweeps through his expression, crinkling his brows.
"It's with the Triton Agency."
"A literary agency, right," he says like he doesn't get what the big deal is, and he probably doesn't. Not yet.
"Right. They're, um…well, they're actually based in Los Angeles."
He freezes as soon as I say Los Angeles, his body becoming completely rigid beneath mine. The loofah in his hands hangs limply. A parade of emotions flickers across his face, and none of them are good.