Page 92 of Until You

What’s it to you, Crew? It’s not like you’re going to be here. It’s not like she’s going to sit here and wait for you on the off chance you bring the girls back here to visit.

So why does looking at her and realizing our time is limited feel like a weight has been dropped into my stomach?

“What’s that?” I ask, so lost in my thoughts—of her—that I don’t hear her.

“I said hopefully the new owners will be decent and abide by the contract and lease that Ian drew up for me. He might not have been the best at getting handywork done, but he swore he’d take care of me so that I could keep my place, and he did. Speaking of places, do you have any idea when the cottage will be livable again?”

I hook her around the waist and pull her onto my lap as I sit beside her. “Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

There’s a quick flash of a smile that doesn’t sit well with me. Especially when the last thing I want is for her to be back in that cottage. It’s more than the built-in sex and the company . . . I like Tenny. Like really like her.

“No. Not at all. I just figured I’d give you and the girls your space back. You’re all probably sick of me.”

I stare at her, trying to get a read on her and her sudden caginess. I’m missing something, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s been since my nightmare last week. Hasn’t it? Tenny’s been a bit more reserved. Seems to be pulling back a bit. Or am I just projecting because I’m insecure over her seeing me like that?

Then again, is something there, and I’m just so blissfully ignorant that I’ve missed it—just like I missed it with Britt?

“Talk to me, Tenny.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She gets up, picks up my putty knife, moves to the railing, and begins to scrape the paint there with no skill whatsoever.

Definitely something going on.

“So you won’t talk, and you’re clearly trying to avoid me because you actually picked up a tool to use it.” She stops mid scrape and looks up at me with a look that says I’m being ridiculous . . . but that look alone tells me I’m not. This is definitely not the afternoon I had planned ten minutes ago when the girls climbed into Phoebe’s car. “So . . . what’s really going on here? Are we about to have our first fight?” I clap my hands together and rub. “You never really know someone until you have that first knockdown drag out. So come at me. Tell me what you hate.”

“Crew.” My name is an exasperated sigh as her hands drop down to her sides.

“What? Do I chew too loud and it drives you crazy? Do I talk obnoxiously loud on the phone? It drives the girls crazy that I pace when I’m on it, so I’m sure you think that too. Or is it my cooking? Do my stellar culinary skills make you so jealous that you can’t even be in the same room?” I rise from my seat and move toward her, that stony façade of hers slowly cracking as the corners of her mouth upturn just slightly. “I know. You’re envious that I know every single lyric to every Taylor Swift song on the face of the earth. I mean, that takes some serious talent. But what can I say?” I blow on my knuckles and then shine them on my shoulder. “When you’ve got it, you’ve got it, and I’d hate me for it too.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she says as I put my hands on both of her hips, and she looks up at me from beneath those thick lashes.

This woman is just . . . Jesus, she does things to me with just her smile.

“Not ridiculous if it’s true. I mean, I haven’t even gotten to the part where I leave my shoes on the stairs, and for that—I mean, those are serious offenses you should be furious at me for.”

She just shakes her head with that expression on her face that makes me want to kiss her and never let her go.

Or rather, I’ll let her go so long as I can do other things to her that involve a bed, a wall, the kitchen counter . . . I mean, the possibilities are endless.

“So . . . are you going to talk to me, or are you going to be mad at me and make me keep guessing what our first official fight is going to be about?”

She lowers her eyes again and focuses on where her fingers play idly with the hole on my favorite, old, dark blue T-shirt.

“I can’t keep doing this to you, Crew,” she says softly.

No, no, no. “Doing what?”

“Using you.”

I bark out a laugh. Here I thought she was ending things, and this is the problem? That she’s using me?

Then let me be used. Especially when it’s by her.

But I don’t exactly think she’ll appreciate me saying that. “Hey,” I say in an attempt to get her to look at me. When she doesn’t, I hook my fingers through the belt loops on the sides of her jeans and tug. “Is that what this is? You using me?”

“Mm-hm.”

My smile is brighter than the fucking sun as I bite back more laughter. “You know what? You’re absolutely right. How dare you? I mean it’s more than clear that I’m getting absolutely nothing out of whatever this is here. No friendship.” I kiss the side of her neck. “No pleasure.” I kiss her cheek. “No release.” This time I brush my lips to hers and fight the urge to take the kiss even deeper. “No anything.”