“Come with me,” he rasps, lifting up to look at me again.
I stare at him for as long as I can as I fall apart. And then the world whites out—pleasure crashing through me in waves so intense I cry out. He follows seconds later, a broken groan against my skin.
We stay like that for a few frozen moments, breathing hard. His weight is grounding, perfect. Then he lifts his head and kisses me.
“That was…” He trails off, searching my face.
“Out of this world,” I finish for him, smiling.
He laughs quietly and rolls us so I’m tucked against his chest. His heartbeat thunders under my ear.
“Yeah, it was,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. “Did you mean it about doing that forever? Because I am so in.”
He takes care of the condom, tying it off and throwing it in the trash near his bed.
I close my eyes and stretch, a huge smile breaking outacross my face. “Might’ve been the heat of the moment when I said that,” I tease.
He tickles my side, and I yelp, laughing and trying to tickle him back. He lifts me over his shoulder and carries me to the shower, where he washes me and then quickly undoes all his work, licking me until I’m gasping his name.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THIS HAS TO BE IT
LOLA
The hotel door snicks shut, and Patrick pokes his head in the bathroom, smiling at me in the mirror.
“Hey. The resort’s gym is closed right now. Apparently someone got sick in there…” Patrick makes a face. “I think I’ll go to that gym I saw in town yesterday. Wanna go?”
“Sure.”
I finish putting my makeup on and grab my workout clothes, slipping back into the bathroom to change into them. Things are still tense between Patrick and me. I fell asleep before he got back last night, and we skipped Elm & Echo. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep through the night, but I was exhausted before we came on this trip, and I think with all the added stress—I crashed hard.
I’m sure Patrick didn’t foresee no sex happening during our romantic getaway, but to his credit, he hasn’t pushed the issue. He seems to know he blew it and is working extra hard to get back on my good side.
Windy Harbor is such a charming little town. The inviting shops, the flower baskets hanging from each lamppost, the gorgeous water shimmering nearby with the light sound of waves hitting the shore—all of it screamswholesome,peaceful, andcozy. It’s such a pretty day, I don’t really want to spend it inside a gym, but I go to appease Patrick. When he’s done working out, maybe we can go to Cox Trading Post—I’ve heard amazing things about that place from the concierge at Windhaven.
The fluorescent lights of Windy Fit buzz overhead, casting sharp shadows across the floor. The gym smells like sweat, rubber mats, and that faint metallic tang of iron plates clanging together. It’s mid-morning on a weekend, so the place is hopping. I’m not sure who the locals are, but I feel like Patrick and I stand out as tourists. The energy feels charged the second we walk in.
Patrick’s hand rests possessively on my lower back as we check in at the front desk, which slightly annoys me, but I don’t shrug it off.
I spot Tully before he sees us. He’s over by the squat rack, mid-rep, barbell loaded heavy across his shoulders. His dark hair is damp at the temples, sticking to his forehead. The black tank clings to his back, outlining every ridge of muscle as he descends slow and controlled, then drives up with power. His quads flex, thick and carved from years of skating and stopping on a dime. Even from across the room, I can see the focus in his eyes—sharp, intense, the same look he used to give me when we were alone and the rest of the world didn’t exist.
His arms are covered with tattoos. They’re beautiful, but I feel a twinge of grief that I’m not the one who gave them tohim. Memories of the way he trustingly stared up at me as I gave him his first and, eventually, second and third tattoos. And the way we desecrated my chair after each session.
My stomach twists. God, I miss him. I miss the way he used to look at me like I was the only thing worth seeing. But he’s not mine anymore. He hasn’t been since I chose safety over fire. Patrick might not be the smarter option, but he doesn’t come with threats and blackmail. Two large pluses.
He’s also less likely to break my heart. But if I’m honest with myself, that’s because I’ve never let myself feel for anyone what I felt for Tully. I’m not sure I ever can.
Tully racks the bar with a clang and straightens, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. That’s when he notices us. His gaze slides over Patrick first, cool and assessing, before landing on me. For a split second, something raw flickers across his face. Longing? The same grief that I feel? I’m not sure because it vanishes so fast, replaced by that easy, cocky grin he wears like armor.
“Lola,” he says, voice low and warm, like gravel wrapped in suede. And then it turns steely. “Patrick.”
Patrick’s hand tightens on my waist. “Tully. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m sure it’s not that big of a surprise,” Tully replies, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you stalking me, Martin?”
His eyes meet mine when he says that last line, and my mouth drops. No, he didnotjust use our line with Patrick. But oh yes, the way his eyes are dancing says he did indeed, and just to get under my skin.
