His voice was gentle, patient even. It was the voice one might use with a spooked animal.
I stopped rambling and turned to face him.
He was standing by the kitchen island, water bottle in hand, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“I should go,” he said. “Let you rest. You’ve had a long trip, and I don’t want to—”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than I intended.
Jacks blinked. “No?”
“I mean—” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself, with this situation, with my complete inability to form coherent sentences. “Just . . . don’t go yet. Please.”
He set the water bottle down on the counter, his movements careful, deliberate. “Okay. I won’t go.”
We stood there, a football field apart, the silence stretching between us like a living thing.
I should let him leave.
That would be the smart thing, the safe thing, let him walk out the door, text him later that I was tired and that I’d see him at the bar in a few days and that everything was fine and normal and the way it had always been.
But I couldn’t.
Because everything wasn’t fine.
Everything hadn’t been fine since the oak tree, since the moment I’d touched his face and felt my whole world tilt. I’d spent two weeks on the road trying to outrun it, trying to convince myself it was nothing, but the feeling had only grown stronger. Every text, every phone call, every sleepy late-night conversation had pulled me deeper into something I didn’t understand and couldn’t control.
And then, in the car, when we’d been inches apart, when his breath had mingled with mine and—
I’dwantedto kiss him.
I’d wanted it so badly it terrified me.
That’s why I’d pulled back.
Not because I didn’t want it, but because I wanted it too much, and wanting it meant everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong. Everything I was so sure of had been a lie.
Erik’s words echoed in my head.
She makes me forget everyone and everything else, just by walking into a room.
I stopped fighting it. I let myself want what I wanted.
Everything got simple.
I looked at Jacks—at his worried expression, his defensive posture, the way he was preparing himselfto be let down—and I made a decision.
It was probably the stupidest decision of my life.
Or maybe the bravest.
“I need to try something,” I said.
Jacks’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I need to try something, okay? And, well . . .” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard and forced myself to continue. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
