I gasp when he grabs the belt loops of my jeans and yanks me into him, pulling my body flush against his. Awareness sparks instantly. Of him. His scent, clean soap layered over earth. The solidness of his chest. The way his hands slide around my back and hold me there.
“It’s our last day here,” he says, sounding a little melancholic which soothes me because I’m the same way. As annoyed as I am now, I’ve enjoyed having nearly unlimited access to him.
“I know,” I drop my head, staring at his chest.
“Don’t be glum,” he says. “I have a present for you.”
My head snaps up. One minute he won’t touch me, and the next he’s pressed up against me, offering gifts?
“What?” I ask, distracted from how close we are.
He leans in, his mouth hovering just shy of mine.
“All the doors are unlocked,” he whispers. “I’ll be back in two hours.”
My mouth falls open. I probably look ridiculous. A fish dropped onto dry land.
He squeezes me once, crushing my cheek to his chest, then lets go, grinning. “Have fun.”
The door closes behind him.
Chapter thirty-two
Doors
Becky
I stay frozen for a solid five minutes, staring at the space he left, turning itover in my mind.
All the doors are unlocked.
That thought should be freeing, but instead it feels like a test I didn’t agree to take. What if some of them weren’t meant to be opened? What if curiosity comes with a price I can’t pay?
Through the door, I hear Carrson’s sports car roar away, and from somewhere deep in the house, a clock ticks. For a heartbeat, everything seems bigger, more alive.
Then a slow, creeping smile spreads across my face.
“Well,” I mutter to myself, “that was a mistake.”
My heart hammers, not with fear exactly, but with the thrill of going where I shouldn’t. Each door is a dare, asking if I’m brave enough to open it. I start down the hallway, my steps slower than they were when I sprinted to the basement. My hands are steadier when I try the first knob, and I sigh with relief when it clicks open.
This time, there’s no need to rush or hide.
***
The room I choose is on purpose, one I’m guessing Carrson doesn’t think I’ll prioritize.
The funny thing is, I don’t even know if this door was ever locked.
I didn’t try it before.
How could I? He was inside, asleep, while I crept through the house, jiggling handles like a criminal.
It’s his bedroom. The one he’s been using since we got here.
I pause, one hand on the doorknob, wondering if it means something. That the first door I try is his. That the first thing I want to learn about ishim.
Does that make me weak? Have I already forgotten my original purpose?
