“Three months, give or take.”
“Three more months,” he breathed out, like I’d just granted him his heart’s most fervent wish.
Fuck. I hated to burst his bubble, but I couldn’t let him go into this blinders on. It would have been nice to let him think this was going to be three months like the week we’d just had, but the reality was far less rosy.
“Your season starts soon, so you’ll be at practice or traveling all the time. And I’ll be working insane hours. I don’t think you can fathom how little sleep I’ll actually get between now and the election. The truth is, we probably wouldn’t see each other all that much.”
“But some is better than none,” he said, his fingers playing with the hair at my nape. I needed to get a haircut soon. It hadn’t been this long in ages. “The best part is, you could stay here. With me.”
God, I wanted to.
But it wasn’t practical.
It would also raise questions.
I tried to let him down gently. “I’ll probably sleep at the office most nights. It’d make the most sense to get a hotel nearby.”
“Oh.” The light in his eyes dimmed, and I hated myself for it.
“We’ll find time, I promise,” I said quickly.
“Sure," he said dismissively, dropping his hands and stepping back.
Fuck. I’d hurt him.
The practical choice was a hotel—I knew that, and I'd wager if he took the time to actually think about it, he'd agree.
But practical wasn’t what either of us wanted.
I reached out, hooking my finger in the knot at his waist, and tugged him back between my legs. "I haven’t even said yes yet.”
“But you will.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Is that okay?”
He looked down at where my fingers were looped in the fabric, then back up at me. “Three more months is three more months, right?”
“Yeah.”
He lifted his chin. "And you’d be doing something you love. Working on something important. This is good. Great, even.”
He was trying. I could see exactly how hard he was trying, and it was so fucking heartbreaking.
“Taylor.”
“I mean it.” He stepped away again, turning toward the window. “This is good. It’s … good.”
He stood there for a moment, one hand braced on the counter, his head lowered. I watched his shoulders rise as he dragged in a slow breath, and then fall. When he turned back to me, he’d pasted a smile on his face.
“You ready to get out of here? I promised you a drive up the coast today.”
“That sounds great,” I answered, already working through how I could make this up to him.
“Give me ten minutes to get the cover off.” He grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and headed outside.
Before joining him, I opened my laptop and wrote a quick reply to Michael Chen, letting him know I was interested in setting up the meeting.
