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“Nothing. I’m gonna go to the guest bedroom.”

Turning on my heel, I let out a sharp gasp when his arm loops around me. The floor falls away abruptly. My head spins. He’s putting me over his shoulder. I don’t have the wherewithal to do more than yelp as he carries me up the stairs. It’s dizzying to be hanging upside down, moving as fast as he does on those long legs.

“You put me down,” I manage, as we step into the bedroom.

His hand comes down on my ass, bare except for my cotton panties.

“No,” he says flatly.

He tosses me on the bed on my back.

“I didn’t ask for an existential crisis, baby, I asked for pussy,” he says, shoving me up on the pillows.

“Oh, I get it. You just want to fuck, not actually use your head—”

“I’ve been using my head all day,” he says, shoving it between my thighs and looking up from between them.

“I meant to think.”

He dips his head, kissing my clit. “Why should I think when I could eat instead?”

I roll my eyes, but halfheartedly. The contact of his lips empties my own head. He studies me, then swipes his tongue over my pussy. My hips rise off the bed. Fuck me, he’s so good at that. It silences me right away, save a moan I can’t bite back.

Maybe I give up this whole idea of being in his industry. Then I won’t have to face any of these heavy questions. It’s possible I could be satisfied with being the person he comes back to after a long week on the road. I close my eyes and wind my hand in his hair. He’s really good with his tongue—and his fingers—and his dick, but I don’t know if that’s enough to fill the space in me that needs to be my own person.

It’s a difficult spot to be in; one I never thought I would have to deal with. I’m no closer to any answers than I was before tonight. I’m not sure I will ever be with him. He’s really fucking hard to understand.

But then, I’m not any better.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JAMIE

I bring her coffee in bed and ask her to stay one more day, for the second time. She draws her knees up, resting the mug on them. Bright blue eyes fix on mine, brows raised.

“And after that?” she whispers.

“What?”

“After that, will you ask for one more day?”

Unthinking, I touch her cheek. The longer she’s here, the deeper I’m becoming entangled. For both our sakes, I have to put down some boundaries.

“No more days after that,” I say.

“Alright,” she says, shrugging like none of it matters.

Triumphant, I lean in and kiss her deep. When I pull back, she gives me a long, soft stare. Is she going to say something? No, she goes back to her coffee and scrolling on her phone.

I make myself some coffee and get out my laptop to work on some emails. I’m not back to work, I tell myself, I’m just sweeping a few things up. Everything goes quiet, save the little click of her acrylic nails across her phone and my fingers on keyboard. It’s oddly…peaceful. Usually, when I have time to work on my computer, I put in earbuds to break the silence. So I feel less alone. With her, I don’t feel the need. I kind of like that noise of her being here, the soft sound of her breathing, having a sip of coffee. The clink as she puts her mug down.

I keep my eyes on my work. When I finally look up, it’s almost noon. I snap my laptop shut and turn to find her lying on her side, phone in one hand, her eyes shut. She’s snoring softly. Last night, she fell asleep in fuzzy knit shorts and her oversized hoodie, both soft pink. She’s curled up in them like a cloud.

For a second, I let myself think my most unhinged thought.

What if…we just started dating? I could give her everything, I could hand over a credit card, and she could have her fill of pink hoodies, nail appointments, and—

My phone goes off, right by my thigh. Her eyes fly open, and I silence it, but not quick enough. She’s wide awake now, pushing herself upright.