He scoffs. Grabs my hips, like he’s about to lift me off him.
“Stop,” I say, planting my hands on his chest. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Sawyer huffs. “Never got attached? I wasn’t sure what any of itmeant, Wren. I kept waiting for you to get bored. To forget about me. To never come back. I was so certain I’d never get to keep you; I never let myself consider the possibility. And the only time I did … you left like it was nothing. You show up here, and I’m—what does it mean, Wren? Are you here because it’s almost summer again? Italian guys weren’t doing it for you? Fucking Pierre isn’t trying to get you back?”
“Has it really—” My voice comes out hoarse, so I try again. “Has it really never occurred to you that I’ve been in love with you for as long as I’ve known you? And that I’ve spent all that time trying to figure out if you’ll ever love me back?”
If this was a fairy tale, he’d say it back.
If this was a fantasy, we’d already be naked.
But this is us, so Sawyer barks a low, disbelieving laugh before he says, “You loved me, Wren, when you flirted with my friends? When you left the day after I almost died? When you planned to fuck the guys you told me about and when you actually fucked?—”
“I didn’t actually fuck anyone.” I drop my hands from his chest, sitting straighter. “You want the full truth? I’veneverhad sex with anyone else, Sawyer. Every time it could happen, I’d freeze. And not because of what Third did. Because ofyou. Because I’m yours, and you’ve never ever acted like mine.”
I fight the urge to flee. To leave him alone with that knowledge rather than facing his reaction. But we can’t continue in this cycle. I need closure, one way or the other. For us to move forward or be final.
All I get is silence.
“I knew that would freak?—”
“Remember when you said your degree was just something your family wanted you to get and you had no idea what you’d do after college?”
I scowl. “What does?—”
“You said you didn’t have a plan after college. Is that still true?”
I nod stiffly, annoyed by him changing the topic.
He nods, too, meeting my gaze. Holding it captive. “Is there room in that non-plan of yours for me?”
The bed tilts beneath me. A flash of vertigo, another moment of falling when I’m certain I’m not. This time, there’s no chilly water to center myself.
But there is Sawyer. Under and around, catching me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “There’s a lot of room. All of it really.”
He smiles, a slow, steady one that spreads across his face and stays in place. “I love you, Wren Kensington. I’ve loved you for a long, long time. I love you so much that it scares me. So much that it took a whileto wrap my head around the size of it. And I’m really sorry for not saying it sooner.”
I’m crying again, which is embarrassing. At least they’re gentler tears this time. I’m probably dehydrated; I never drank any of the water he gave me.
“I’m sorry too. I should’ve said it?—”
“You did.”
I stare at him. “What?”
He smirks a little, reaching up to brush my hair off my forehead. “Last summer, the night you got wasted at Lucky’s, you said, ‘I love you,’ after I carried you up to your room.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were drunk, Wren. I didn’t know if you meant it, and you never acted like you remembered. But technically, you told me.”
“I meant it.” I give him a lingering kiss. “I”—kiss—“love”—kiss—“you.”
My lips move lower, sucking on the skin of his neck in one spot. Then another.
“I can just tell people I have a girlfriend. You don’t have to cover me in hickeys.”
