Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“I’m not stupid. You spent the night alone with Fitz.”
“Yeah, well, he was drunk. It was one night. When we get home, it will be as if it never happened.” I hate lying to her, but I also hate the accountability that comes from her knowing that I’m in over my head. And maybe it’s not a lie; maybe when we get home, it will be like it never happened. I’ll hate that too.
“Look at me.”
I ignore her.
“Jaymes.” She slides out of bed and kneels beside my bag. “Look at me.”
For three whole seconds, I’m brave. I hold it together. On the fourth second, I blink, and the tears accompany my quivering lower lip, and the captive breath in my aching chest releases.
“Your heart’s too big for one night. It’s the Pisces in you.” She hugs me. “It’s an unfortunate flaw you have.”
I laugh through my tears. “Virgo. It’s the Virgo in me.”
“Whatever. It makes you one of the good ones, Jaymes.”
I stiffen when her hand brushes my bandage.
“What’s this?”
I lean away from her, straightening my back and wiping my tears. “Curling iron burn.”
She reaches for my hair. Again, I jerk away from her.
Melissa’s eyes widen. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I shake her off. “What do you mean?”
“You’re acting really jumpy over a curling iron burn.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh dear god! You have a hickey.”
“Guilty.” I offer a stiff smile and refocus on my clothes.
“Why would you bandage a hickey on the back of your neck that no one can see because your hair covers it? You get nasty reactions to adhesives. Take it off, goofy.” She reaches for the back of my neck.
I slap my hand against it and wince at the sting. “It’s not a hickey, okay?” I mumble. “It’s a tattoo.”
Her jaw plunges to the floor. “A tattoo? Are you kidding me?”
I deflate, shaking my head. “We were day drinking, and the next thing I knew, I was topless in your bed with bile climbing up my throat. After I vomited, I started to remember a few things, including the tattoo on my neck.”
She snorts. “What tattoo did you get?”
“A butterfly.”
“Let me see.”
“I’ll send you a picture. It’s bandaged.”
“It’s a clear bandage, you goofball.”
I cover my face with the shirt I just folded. “It’s not a butterfly,” I mumble.
Melissa walks on her knees and lifts the back of my hair. “Oh. My. God.”
“I know,” I squeak. “It’s a long story. Can we not talk about it? Like . . . ever?”
“No. That’s not an option. However, we need to get you two to the airport soon, so I’ll give you a few days to get your story straight, and then we’ll have a come-to-Jesus moment about this. Understood?”
“Understood.” I drop the shirt from my face and add it to my bag.
By the time we exit the bedroom, Fitz is waiting at the door with his bag packed. He takes my suitcase, and with nothing more than a brief smile and a murmured “thanks,” we follow Melissa to her car.
It’s a bearable trip to the airport. Kudos to Melissa for yammering on about the party as if she knows Fitz and I need an out to not talk. At the terminal drop-off, Melissa and I share an emotional goodbye, then I navigate security—this time without any hiccups.
Fitz and I return to Missoula without exchanging more than a few words.
Without touching.
Without an ounce of recognition that something happened.
He breaks the silence when we pull into the driveway beside Will’s Bronco. “Are we good?”
Good. What does that mean? All of a sudden, I’m pondering the meaning of good. I’m comparing it to okay and great.
We shared a great weekend.
I was good with the arrangement.
Now . . .
“Yep. I’m okay,” I reply.
Good is a solid goal. Maybe I’ll be there in a few weeks when Fitz jumps out of planes, I’m back in my work routine, and Will and Maren constantly remind me that Fitz has a challenging personality.
For now, I still feel him inside me like a deep breath I’m holding in my lungs for as long as I can. When it starts to burn, when I begin to feel like holding on to him is suffocating me, then I’ll let him go.
“That’s good,” he murmurs as we climb out of his truck.
I didn’t say “good,” but he’s into illusions, so I let him think what he wants.
“Hey, beach dwellers,” Will greets us. He turns down the volume of the basketball game.
“I jogged along the beach. That was the extent of beach time,” Fitz says.
“That sucks. You packed your tiny little Speedo for nothing.” Will snags a beer from the fridge.
“Yeah.” Fitz grabs a beer too. “But thanks for letting me borrow it.” He smirks and taps his bottle to Will’s.
“Have you seen Maren?” I wheel my bag to the back door.