“Please don’t be mad at me,” I say.
His eyes meet mine. “I could never be mad at you, Pips,” he says softly in that deep timbre. “My number one priority when it comes to you is making sure you’re comfortable. I want to make sure you’re taken care of. And if this is how you feel, then that’s that. This journey, it’s about you. It’s not about me.”
“That makes me seem selfish.”
“It doesn’t. But even if it did, don’t you think it’s time for you to be a little selfish?”
“I don’t think there is ever a good time to be selfish,” I reply.
“When it comes to your mental health, yeah, there’s always a good time to be selfish. And you’ve worked hard while being here, Scottie. I’m really proud of you, so I don’t want you to lose that momentum.”
And when he says things like that, it makes me want him that much more, because he’s so understanding, supportive, the kind of guy that I want in my life. And that’s why I worry, because I’m already attached. What happens when we get back to the city, he takes me out, I grow even more attached, and then he decides he’s still not ready?
He said it to my face; he doesn’t do dating. He doesn’t do relationships because he’s not ready, because there are things hanging over his head that are preventing him from committing. I can’t risk the possible heartache of falling for someone who, in the end, figures out that they’re not ready.
He might be feeling a certain way now, but how do I know he won’t change his mind when we’re back in reality?
“I can see your mind working over there,” he says.
“Just trying to figure out what’s going on in my head.”
“It’s fine, babe,” he says casually. “I understand the assignment.”
“What assignment?” I ask.
His eyes meet mine as he pauses, scooping some yogurt into his bowl. “That I’m going to have to prove to you just how serious I am about this.”
“Wilder—”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be no pressure, and this’ll be entirely your decision, but don’t think I’m not going to make it damn hard on you.” He smirks and then plops more yogurt in his bowl. “Get ready to be wooed, Pips.”
“Tomorrow is our last day,” Sanders says as he sits in his chair in a cutoff T-shirt with a green tie and jeans. “You’re free to go home, and I always take this day to go over what your plans are for when you return to regular life.”
Wilder has his arm around me as we sit side by side on the couch. After breakfast, he pulled me up by my hand and took me to the shower, where he teased me with the flesh sword. I swatted it away multiple times. There are things I will do, but backing up to a suction-cup penis on the shower wall is not one of those things. Instead, I sat on top of Wilder and rode him, which was so much better than any other device in the cabin.
“Keeping the communication open,” Wilder says. “We were just talking about what we’re going to do when we go home.”
Oh God, what is he going to say?
“And what was that conversation like?” Sanders asks.
“She’s hesitant,” Wilder says. “I think even though we had a good time here and made some great strides toward a bettermarriage, there’s still the concern that if we aren’t here at the camp, being challenged, we might fall back into old habits.”
“That’s a very valid concern,” Sanders says as he picks up a hockey stick. He starts balancing a puck on the blade as he walks around. It’s so distracting, something I will never get over. “And it’s the main concern I get from all my couples. So how do you think you’ll combat it?”
“I think we just need to keep having honest conversations and putting in the effort to be better,” Wilder says. “I know I have plans of my own to show her how committed I am to her.”
“Care to share those plans?” Sanders asks.
Wilder shakes his head. “Nah, they’re not for her ears.”
“Keeping a little mystery in the relationship. That’s always good. As long as it’s not hindering your communication.” Sanders pops up the puck and catches it on the blade again. “What about you, Scottie? What are your plans for when you get back?”
“Umm…” I look up at Wilder and then back at Sanders. “I don’t…I don’t really know.”
Sanders pauses, and his brows shoot up. “You don’t know?”
Feeling the pressure, I shake my head. “I’m, uh, I’m just, you know, trying to figure things out.”
