I want to say it out loud for the first time in fifteen years.
I want to confess. I want her to tell me howIcan let go of the guilt.
Of the shame.
Of the constant need to do more and more and more good in the world to balance the scales.
I want to let her in.
I want to trust her.
And that has never—ever—happened before.
My pulse is riding a rocket ship to terror land. My mouth has gone dry.
What if I let it go?
What if I let go of my own old guilt and shame?
What if I let myself take a chance at being happy with someone instead of insisting I’m happiest alone?
What if I take this leap?
What if I trust her?
“Sloane—”
“Maps.Maps.” The lights flicker on, and she stares at me wide-eyed, her legs tucked in under the quilt, her breasts hanging free beneath her T-shirt. “Oh my god,maps. On the computer. Technology. Internet maps.Internet maps! Street view! Street view!Where’s your computer? We don’t have to hike out to see Chicken Rock. We can look at it on the computer. We can look at itright now.”
She starts to get out of bed, but pauses, shirt riding up, showing off a strip of smooth, bare skin over her panty line.
She tilts her head and frowns at me. “Davis? You okay?”
Nope.
Not even close.
I’m having a panic attack about wanting to confess a very old crime to her, and she’s sexy and alluring as a siren, andI am not okay.
Rather than answer, I spin to rise, trying to hide how fast I’m breathing, and the cat yowls and takes off under the bed. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry. Usually more aware of my surroundings.”
“It’s late. We should sleep. We can internet in the morning.”
We can sleep after we find the treasure, and we can internet now. “Can’t sleep until we look. Check on Peggy.”
I retrieve my bag from the front room, spot Rafael lounging in a deck chair with an eye on the pool house door, and I stifle another sigh.
Doesn’t help to tell myself he’s watching out for Sloane.
Feels like he’s watching to make sure I don’t leave either.
Not that I want to.
Even if I should.
When I return to the bedroom, Sloane’s hanging off the side of the mattress, legs mostly covered, but her pink panties are peeking out in back as she looks beneath the bed. “Peggy, that’s not a kitty toy.”
“Need me to?—”
