Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
But every time the instinct yawned awake in him, self-preservation slammed it shut. Ren didn’t need to know Fitz better. She didn’t need to be someone—the first someone in years—who he opened up to. Ren didn’t need all the baggage Fitz brought to the table. As much as he wanted to sit her down and tell her everything, it wasn’t smart. Their lives could not be more different. Ren had barely seen anything in the world, and Fitz had already seen too much.
He’d learned too many times that when you think life is going the right direction, you were probably only inches from a blind turn.
The worst thing about it all wasn’t even the effort it took to keep her emotionally at arm’s length; it was keeping her physically distant, too. It was obvious to them both that there was attraction here. Fitz had felt this often enough to know what it was: the adrenaline-flooded limbs, the heat in his blood, the desire to drink in her features like a heavy, sweet brandy. He’d look at her across the console, the table, the sidewalk, and all he wanted to do was touch her. He wanted to tug her hand at night and pull her over him, letting her figure out how her body worked. And if Ren had been anybody else, he would have done it already.
But Ren wasn’t anybody else; she didn’t even speak that language. Everything he wanted to do with her would be her first: first kiss, first touch, first time. Only the worst of men would take those firsts knowing he’d vanish right after.
Shit, but her sweet openness was the exact thing that was making him crazy, turning him into a turbulent sea: high tide, low tide, high tide. He couldn’t find a way to be normal with her anymore. And when it came down to it, why not open that door? What did he care if this was her first or one thousandth experience? What difference would it make? He could take, and take, and take, and what did he care if it messed with her head? Ren was an adult. She’d figure it out.
The problem was, he did care. And worse, maybe, was this: What if she wasn’t the only one who got hurt? Fitz had never known this kind of attraction before—one that was entwined with curiosity and amusement and a sense of companionship that felt too, too comfortable. Turned out, he hated it. Sexual chemistry in isolation was so much easier. His dream was to be a free man unbeholden to anyone. He didn’t want or need feelings.
They’d be arriving in Nashville soon—could easily make it tomorrow, if they wanted—and from there Ren was going to Atlanta. He’d drop her at the bus depot, and for all he knew, he might never see her again. Maybe she’d stay in Atlanta with her dad, maybe she’d head back to her homestead. Maybe she’d come back to school, and they’d awkwardly orbit each other for a few months before he graduated. He had no idea. But what he did know was that it’d only been four days, and this level of attachment was stupid. It was dangerous, even. This was when kids like him got hurt. The last thing he ever wanted to be again was the sucker who fell for the promise of more.
But when she came out of the bathroom, hair long and soft over one shoulder and cheeks so flushed she looked fevered, some resolve in him cracked. He could keep her at arm’s length physically, could keep his emotions in check, too. But he didn’t ever want to bruise hers.
“The bed is plenty big for us to share,” he said, silently begging her to look at him.
She glanced up and then quickly away. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’ll stay on my side.” He’d wanted it to sound playful, but instead it came out tight, like a warning.
“Of course. I will, too.”
“That’s not—” He faltered because words about feelings and shortcomings and fears were not in his working vocabulary. “I wasn’t—”
“Good night, Fitz.” She cut him off gently, walking around the bed to climb in on the other side. The air stirred, and it smelled like honey. He wanted to press his nose to her skin, breathe her in. “I know it’s weird for two people who barely know each other to share a room, let alone a bed. I’ll never stop being grateful.”
Two people who barely know each other.
He’d said something similar to her, he knew it was true, so why did it sting when she said it back?
Ren reached up, turning out the lamp beside her bed, so he did the same, lying there in miserable silence.
“Ren?”
He caught the tiny, frustrated sigh that preceded her amiable “Yes?”
“If you want to drive tomorrow,” he said, “I’m cool with it.”