She bites her lip. “Sorry. I know I said I’d stop stealing them. But they’re just so soft and comfortable. And I only paint in this one because you said I could.”
“Wear them all, Sarah. It doesn’t bother me.”
It should bother me. If I had any sense of self-preservation, I’d ask her to follow the rules we made for a reason. But I like the idea of her thinking of me whenever she wears one. Probably too much.
“It’s your own fault,” she says. “If you didn’t smell so good…”
“She says when she pulls them straight out of the dryer.”
“It doesn’t matter!” she says. “They still smell like you.”
I grin down at her. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”
“Whatever. I smell like paint and varnish.”
“Okay, true. But also…honeysuckle? Sometimes oranges. And sometimes roses.”
“You’re taking notes, huh?”
I shrug. “Just noticing. I notice everything about you.”
Her eyes drop, and for a split second, I wonder if I pushed too far. Made the flirting a little too pointed. But then she looks up again, this time with new purpose in her eyes.
“Are you off tomorrow?”
I nod. “Yeah. We have another game on Wednesday, and we won tonight, so we get Tuesday off.”
“Want to help me take this to the gallery?” She tilts her head toward the painting. “They sent a courier over to pick up the others earlier this week, but I promised I’d get this one to them since I begged for extra time.”
“I’d love to help.”
“Good.” She licks her lips. “And you’re still coming to the show?”
“Of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss it.” A tiny prick of pain pinches the back of my heart. Iwouldn’tmiss her show, and I’m really looking forward to being there. But it’s hard to ignore the reminder that she can’t show up for me in the same way.
I know she has her reasons. Nothing about Sarah is selfish—the entire reason she wanted to stay in the States was so she could be here to help her family. They’re at the center of her life, so I don’t think she isn’t coming because she just doesn’t care.
But my brain is having a hard time coming up with a reason that makes sense. And that’s the frustrating part. As much as I would love to have her at a game, I don’t like feeling like there’s a piece of her that I don’t understand and can’t ask about.
“We’ll be out in public,” Sarah says, pulling my attention back to her. Her eyes flash with something that looks like hunger. “At the show. That means the rules will be different.”
“They will be,” I say slowly, heart rate quickening the slightest bit. “We’ll have to touch a lot more. Are you ready for that?”
“Touching,” she echoes, but then she leans forward the slightest bit, her eyes dropping to my lips as she almost whispers, “Kissing.”
She wants it. Iknowshe wants it. So why are we pretending that we have to keep following the rules? I’m about to ask her, but then she takes a deep breath and agiantstep backward.
“I should go to bed,” she says, the words fast. “And you should too. You’re probably really tired after your game.”
I swallow my sigh. “Yeah, I am.”
We walk down the bonus room stairs and down the hall together, stopping when we reach my bedroom door. Gordie appears, and Sarah leans down, scooping him into her arms and holding him in front of her like a shield.
She gives me one last look over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Carter,” she says, then she heads across the house to her room, taking my cat with her.
I move into my room and close the door behind me, smiling into the darkness.
I haven’t forgotten the earlier reminder of Sarah’s secrets, but it’s stinging a little less now. Sarah Stone just told me she wants me to kiss her again.
