Shit. Maybe I should have put on pants.
Becca is still watching me nervously, but she’s radiating that happy glow from the date. It makes me much happier when she’s here with me than it did then.
Oh my god. Becca is here. With me. In my hotel room. Which could definitely, absolutely get me fired, but at this moment I really don’t care.
“What about Preston?” I ask.
She gets a sly look on her face. “I know you planned that date today.”
That wasn’t really an answer to the question, but it still makes me happy that she figured it out. “Yeah, I did.”
“I knew it. Everything was so perfect, so totally geared toward me and what I’d love. But the whole time, I kept wishing I was on the date with you.”
That takes my breath away. It’s everything I wanted and didn’t dare hope for.
“I wished that, too.” I want to point out that it didn’t stop her from kissing him, but I don’t want sound like a prick. “I was really jealous.”
“I thought you were,” she says, biting her lip. “Especially after he kissed me. I’m sorry about that. But seeing how much you hated it—that’s what gave me the courage to come here.” She knots her fingers in her lap. “I wanted to be on the show to take a chance, to become more open to dating. But I think what it’s done is made me open to datingyou. So if you want to see where this can go, I’ll leave the show.”
She looks at me hopefully, and I’m struck so speechless it takes me a minute to answer.
She’d leave the show for me.
Forme.
“You’d really do that?” I ask.
She nods. “If you want me.”
“Yeah, I want you.” My body is starting to heat up, and I think in a minute that’s going to become painfully obvious, but maybe that isn’t a bad thing. She’s saying she wants this, and god, I want her so much.
Can this happen? Is this really okay? It feels too damn good to be true.
She’s looking at me with this intense hunger in her eyes, and I’m guessing I’m doing the same.
But we need to have a plan, don’t we? An exit strategy. Becca matters too much to me to do anything rash.
“What will you tell Preston?” I ask.
She shrugs. “What is it that women always say? I just don’t feel a strong enough connection. I don’t think I can continue with this journey. I don’t want to take the place of someone who can get there with you.”
“You’ll have to go home,” I say, feeling a pang in my chest. I don’t want her to go. I don’t want to be away from her. “But it’s only a few more weeks, and then I’ll be back. And once you get home, you’ll have a phone again.”
Her smile turns coy. “I would,” she says, and I’m pretty sure she’s thinking, like I am, about all the things we could do over the phone. Yeah, my body’s starting to have all kinds of reactions that are incredibly obvious and Becca’s eyes travel down me, just for a second, and I know that she notices.
“You really want this.” I’m stating the obvious, but it’s just so hard for me to believe that after all of that longing, she’s really here.
“I really do,” Becca says. “I’ve wanted this since I met you. And especially after we talked in the carriage.”
Oh god, the carriage. “Me too.” I chuckle in a way that is seriously wound up. “You were talking about how long it had been and how sexually frustrated you were and I wanted so bad to offer to help you out with that.”
“I wanted you to!” she says with her own wound-up laugh.Then she pauses and her hand slips over, resting on top of mine. It’s a simple touch, but it ignites a current that runs through my body, vibrating down to my bones.
Maybe this is too much, but it’s true: “I was aboutthis closeto offering to crawl under your skirts and take care of you right there.”
Becca lets out a faint groan and her eyes blink closed. “I might have had a few fantasies about that myself.”
Holy shit, we’re doing this. We’re really doing this. I lean in, running a hand up her leg, and she whimpers softly, looking up into my eyes.
