Sawyer looks to Monroe, likewhat gives. “Thanks for the warning that we’ve got a pool shark in the house. Why the hell are we playing with him?”
Monroe lifts his glass of scotch. “Don’t worry. Banks once told me he only ever comes in here when he’s working through some shit in his head. Which means he’ll be off his game in no time.”
“Hey! I take issue with that,” I say.
Monroe points the cue to me. “Speaking of—what’s the issue?”
I huff.
“There’s definitely an issue then,” Sawyer adds with a smirk.
I sigh, then shrug. “There’s this woman. And I can’t get her out of my head.”
“Talk to us,” Monroe says.
I do, giving them the bare minimum, then I say, “I really should resist her.”
“You should,” Sawyer says. “Butshouldandwillare two entirely different things.”
They are, and they’re probably the reason I do lose the next couple games.
When I’m back at the cottage that night, and Ripley’s sliding into bed in a tank top, the difference between the two feels worlds apart.
I don’t bother with my earlier plan to sleep on the floor. Or the couch. I go straight to the bed and grab a sheet of white paper from the inside of my tablet, which is on the nightstand. I lie down on the covers, with her under them, then I start folding the paper as her dog curls into a ball at the foot of the bed.
Ripley sets down the thriller she’s reading and nods to the paper in my hand. “Do you need to relax?”
I need to not touch her. I need to resist her. I need to find the line betweenshouldandwill, so I don’t cross it. This paper is it. “Mostly I need a distraction,” I grit out.
She’s quiet for a beat, then says, “Me too. Teach me origami.”
“Now?”
“Why not? You’re awake. I’m awake. Can’t think of anything else we could be doing at night.”
It’s said dryly. A clear acknowledgment.
For a hot second, I meet her gaze. Bright, glittering, and full of memories of yesterday. Her words from that afternoon echo in my mind.I’ve already forgotten all about it.
They’re a beautiful lie. She hasn’t. I haven’t. So I do the next best thing. I give her the paper so I can show her how to make a dog. “Make a triangle so there’s a crease down the middle,” I tell her.
She makes that move, then waits.
“Now fold the bottom point to the middle crease,” I say.
“Like this?” she asks when she’s done it.
“Yes. Do that till it’s a diamond shape. Now you’re going to turn it and repeat it,” I say, but her brow knits, and she pauses, clearly unsure where to turn it.
With a shrug and a laugh, she says, “Help.”
I slide closer, the distance between us shrinking. But at least there’s a comforter here separating her from me. This blanket is doing a lot of work in this room tonight. “Like this,” I say, then cover her hands.
Her breath hitches. My pulse surges.
We go quiet as I move her fingers, flipping over the shape. “Turn it so the largest diamond is on top and the smallest points toward you,” I say.
She complies, then looks at me with wide eyes that spark with anticipation. She lifts her chin, like she’s waiting for an order. Imagesflicker temptingly before my eyes in the stretched-out silence till she asks, “What do I do now?”
