Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I open my mouth, then shake my head. “Andi’s. I can stay with her.”
“Jesse’s back. They’re going to want privacy. Try again.”
I clench my teeth. “Caroline’s, then.”
“Fully booked. I asked Jesse. Want to keep trying?”
The proximity of Nolan’s body and the way his breath feels against my skin is all too much. It’s a stark reminder of a past I’m not sure I can reconcile with the present. But I’m out of options, and he knows it.
His gaze holds a challenge, but there’s also a flicker of real concern he can’t hide–not from me.
“I don’t need your help,” I say. “I can take care of myself.”
His expression softens for the first time. “I know you can. But I’m not letting you go out there in the middle of the night with no plan. And I just finished traveling all day. I’m fucking exhausted. I’m not about to go back out there and screw around finding somewhere else to stay. So you’re stuck here with me, Calloway.”
If I really didn’t care about him, I would just shrug my shoulders and roll with this. That’s what the girl who doesn’t care would do.
“Fine,” I say. “But we’re setting ground rules.”
He finally steps back and pulls his hand away once he knows I’ve given up running. “This should be good.”
I rattle off the first few that come to mind. “Separate rooms. No walking in a room without knocking first. We split chores, and… keep out of each other’s way.”
“Alright,” Nolan says, and I’m almost certain I see the ghost of a smile on those scar-crossed lips. “And we take turns cooking.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re planning to grace me with your culinary masterpieces? Do you think showing off is going to make me like you again?”
Now that ghost of a smile is a full-blown grin. “You seemed to appreciate my cooking well enough before.”
Before. The word hangs between us like a neon sign–a reminder of a chapter we’ve both closed in a book neither of us planned to ever pick up again. But here we are, cracking the book open to an earmarked page like we’re about to finish the story.
Thunder rumbles outside. A moment later, lightning flashes and a gust of wind splatters the windows with the first rain. It’s cold enough out there that I know the rain will probably soon turn to snow.
“See?” He says, gesturing to the windows as if it’s one final confirmation that we’re stuck here together–at least for the time being.
I fold my arms and glare at him. And then I have to look away, because my stupid brain starts asking questions I don’t want to hear.
Wouldn’t this be easier if you guys just kissed out your mutual frustrations?
Didn’t we hear once that hate sex is amazing?
Sharing a cabin would be less awkward if we got the sexual tension out of the air, wouldn’t it?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and turn my back to him. I go to the kitchen, get a glass with a shaky hand, and start filling it with water. No, brain. None of those are remotely good questions. We’re not sleeping with him. We’re not kissing him. We’re not even going to tolerate him. And if he keeps it up, he’s going to be lucky if we don’t smother him in his freaking sleep.
“Oh, by the way,” Nolan says from behind me as I chug my water. “Slight problem with those little ground rules of yours.”
“What?” I ask through my teeth.
“Separate rooms? There’s only one bedroom in this cabin.”
4
NOLAN
Mia’s cute when she’s flustered. She’s pacing in a small circle, one arm folded while she gnaws on already-chewed nails. She stops, lifting her palm and shrugging as if she’s decided something. “I’ll sleep on the couch, then.”
I tilt my head in surprise. I expected her to tell me I was riding the couch. “No, you won’t,” I say.
She crosses her arms and we start a silent staring match. It gives me more time than I’d like to study the ways she has and hasn’t changed in two years. Her bright red hair is braided and thrown over one shoulder. A smear of freckles dusts the spaces below her eyes and the bridge of her upturned nose. Big, blue eyes with that same glinting challenge of intellect are locked with mine.
Her pouty lips part to reveal slightly crooked, white teeth. I remember the first time I saw her two years ago–how I thought it made sense somehow that she used to be a figure skater. She has the straight-backed, almost uptight posture of someone with a background in some kind of body control sport, like dancing or gymnastics. Even then, I have to admit part of me found the idea of bending that straight back of hers a little thrilling.
I take a step closer to her. It makes the scent of her fill my nose. It’s not her perfume or her soaps. It’s the scent of her skin I remember–like some kind of irresistible perfume her body pushes through her pores to tempt me.