Page 104 of Into Pitch

“You’re quiet,” Alex observes when he catches me staring at him.

“I’m thinking,” I sigh.

“About?”

“That I should probably be more afraid right now,” I murmur honestly.

“And are you?”

“No,” I admit.

His expressions softens just a fraction and I lean forward, placing my elbows onto the table. Weaving my fingers together and resting my chin onto them carefully.

“Then perhaps this was a good idea after all,” he smiles. A genuine one and not the one he tossed at the waitress.

Maybe it was a good idea. Maybe I’m already too far in.

When we leave, he doesn’t touch me. He just walks beside me as we head back to his car. And it hits me with stunning clarity—

I didn’t test my freedom because I didn’t want to lose him. I don’t want to lose him. Despite all the bullshit and the mental mind games, I’m all in. Maybe not as crazily as he is—or maybe I am—there are just so many maybes being thrown around tonight.

And I am so tired of being maybe.

I’m ready to be sure.

The cabin is quiet when we return, the door creaking shut behind us as I awkwardly step within on the kitten heels I had worn with my dress tonight. My hands folded behind my back and turn just as Alex closes the door behind him, locking it out of habit. The sound of the bolt sliding home is solid, and instead of sending my pulse skittering, it settles it.

I watch as he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook by the door. My eyes tracing the lean lines of his body as I slip off my shoes and line them up without thinking.

We move around each other easily, like we’ve done this a hundred times instead of once. The date of course, lingers between us. Not the specifics, but the food, the conversation, and the way his mouth curved when I laughed.

“Alex,” I call.

He looks up immediately. “Yes?”

I hesitate, then walk further into the cabin, stopping near the table. I rest my palms against the wood and ready myself for what comes next.

“I want to tell you something.”

“I’m listening,” he murmurs. Attentive as he folds his arms to his chest and waits on me.

I draw in a slow breath and start. “Tonight wasn’t what I expected.”

“That seems to be a recurring theme,” he replies smoothly.

I almost smile.

“I kept waiting for the moment I’d panic,” I admit softly. “Or bolt. Or feel like I needed to make a scene just to prove I still could.”

“And you didn’t,” he clarifies as if I wasn’t aware.

“No, and I think that’s part of my problem with all of this. Because the date was nice, but its surface level, and I still feel like I don’t understand you. Not truly.”

His brows furrow. “Most people don’t.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I straighten, resolve hardening my spine. “I understand what you do. I understand the danger, the control, the way you move through the world like rules are optional. But I don’t understand what it feels like to be you.”

He nods, looking down at his crossed ankles as he tries to decide whether this is mere curiosity or something more.