Even if he’s one of my dreams, I think to myself.
“I’m struggling,” I admit, not feeling the slightest bit foolish about exposing my insecurities. I trust him. “I love my job. I love the city. But… my feelings for you are running pretty deep. I don’t know how those things fit together.”
He takes a slow breath, looking out at the horizon. “You’ve got wings, Penny,” he says softly. “And I’ve got roots. It’s going to be hard to meet in the middle. Maybe one of us just learns to reach higher… or dig a little deeper.”
My throat tightens. “You’re such a poet… you make it sound so easy.”
He smiles faintly. “Nothin’ worth keepin’ ever is.”
We fall quiet again, the swing moving in slow rhythm. I watch the fireflies flicker across the yard, little bursts of light that appear and vanish before you can decide if they were real. The kind of beauty you have to accept is temporary, but you know it will be back tomorrow.
Something heavy and hopeful twists in my chest. Sam reaches over, links his fingers with mine, his thumb tracing idle circles against my skin.
“I don’t know if I can stay put,” I whisper. He squeezes my hand, gaze steady on the fireflies dancing through the dark. “And I can’t ask you to leave.”
I stare at him, wanting him to push me to ask him to let go of Whynot. Instead, he leans in and kisses me. A soft touch, then his tongue slides in my mouth and I groan from the contact.
With his lips against mine, he rumbles, “How about we put that on the back burner and you let me take you to bed?”
“Would there be orgasms involved?” I ask with a smirk.
“More than one, you lucky girl,” he says, and just like that, I forget about roots and wings.
CHAPTER 19
Sam
The first thingI feel when I wake up is warmth and I admit it’s not a chore to find a beautiful woman wrapped around me. Penny’s hair is a copper spill across my chest, one arm flung over me like she’s claiming territory. I like that more than I dare admit.
My thoughts strangely don’t focus on the fact that she’s very naked and very accessible, and that we did dirty things to each other last night, proving that we are like peas and carrots in bed. Rather, I think about how we’ve talked about roots and wings. For all the ways we’re perfect for each other, that’s a difference I’m not sure we can overcome.
I trace my fingers along the line of her arm, careful not to wake her, and think about what it means to want something you can’t keep. She has a whole life in DC—a career that lights her up from the inside. I’d never forgive myself for asking her to stay, not when I know how hard she’s fought to build what she’s got. But damn if itdoesn’t hurt to imagine her gone.
She stirs beside me, then blinks up, eyes heavy with sleep and affection. “You’re staring,” she mumbles.
“Just admiring the view.”
Her lips curve, the slow smile that always splits me apart. “Flattery before coffee? You’re growing as a person.”
She pushes up on an elbow, hair a mess, full breasts taunting me, and she’s looking very much like my favorite reason for existing.
Her hand presses against my chest. “You ready for your big day, Mr. TV Star?”
“Not even remotely,” I reply drolly. I know fame is part of the deal, but today’s going to be painful when the producer rolls into town.
“Good.” Penny slides out of bed, naked ass also taunting me, and disappears into the closet, her voice muffled. She emerges wearing one of my button-down shirts. “Means you won’t overthink it.”
Overthinking is my default setting, but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I think about getting her out of my shirt that looks way too good on her, but she ducks back into the closet.
She emerges with two shirts of mine on hangers. One is a red and blue plaid button-down, the other is a black Henley.
She holds up the plaid shirt. “This one says small-town writer.” Then waves the Henley. “This says hot country boy. Choose wisely.”
I groan and sit up in bed. “Really? Clothes have meaning?”
“They will to your fans,” she replies with a grin. “Especially the female ones. Remember, you’re marketing yourself.”
“I’m feeling like a slab of meat,” I mutter.
