Page 101 of Into Pitch

“You’re allowed to want things.”

“I know that,” I snap.

“Do you?”

I hesitate just a fraction, my eyes narrowing on his words.

“Because from where I’m sitting, you look like someone arguing with herself over a decision she’s already made.” He continues, setting the pen down now and relaxing fully into his chair.

“That’s a bold assumption.”

He shrugs. “I’ve been wrong before.”

I click my tongue against the back of my teeth and hold his gaze. Trying to decide if I want to push this further or retreat while I have dignity. The problem is, dignity feels overrated right now.

I stand abruptly, pacing toward the counter under the guise of needing water. I focus on the simple act of filling the glass, or maybe just the motion of it. Either way, I feel him watching me.

“You’re doing it again.”

“What am I doing?” I sigh, turning back to him.

“Circling.”

I arch a brow. “Is that what we are calling it now.”

“I just want you to stop pretending this is all accidental.” He counters, of course.

“I’m not pretending.”

“Then what are you doing?”

The answer moves on my tongue—wanting you, hating that I want you, resenting that I know it—but I don’t give him that.

Instead, I lift my chin and scoff. “Thinking. God forbid.”

He watches me for a long beat then simply turns back to his work.

Fuck.

Ugh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

How do we do any of this? How do I let him in without falling the sixty stories we are standing on and splat all over the concrete at the bottom? I’m not sure if it’s possible. I think all of that is the point.

It’s supposed to hurt. We’re supposed to both bleed out on the floor until there is nothing left to give over but the truth. I’m just—

I’m terrified of that truth.

“I want to take you on a date.”

Excuse me?

My head whips toward Alex at the words. We’ve been sitting in this tense silence for hours after I was caught ogling him, and the first words he says to break our tension is something halfway normal?

“A what?”

He looks up from where he’s seated at the table still, composed. Like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say after kidnapping someone and keeping them in a cabin in the woods for weeks.

“A date,” he repeats.