Page 55 of Untruly With You

The first track—the one I much prefer—was reliving the evening we had. The contrast between the freezing, pure water and Sutton’s warm skin, fighting for territory. The way Sutton murmured my name endlessly, as if he couldn’t believe it was reallymehe was holding. The way he would periodically lean away from me or lift me up in the moonlight, just to look at me again before diving back into a kiss.

My mind seemed to shut off between the moment Sutton kissed me and the moment he fell asleep. It felt like both a single breath and a lifetime, and it was utterly perfect.

And then he was asleep.

And it was just me, alone with my thoughts.

Which brings me to the second track. TheWhat in the actual hell are you doing?track.

The longer the mental ping-pong goes on, the faster and more erratic it gets.

He’s my best friend.

I can’t deny my feelings.

But Ishoulddeny them.

I’ve never felt so at peace as I did last night.

You’re ridiculous.

He’s perfect.

You’ll lose him.

Restless, I shift under the wool blanket draped over Sutton and me. I’m turned away from him, and he instinctively pulls me closer until my back meets his chest. His hand rests on my stomach. I freeze, listening for his breaths. They’re even and shallow, burning hot against the skin of my shoulder.

He’s still asleep.

Enjoy this.

Escape this.

I wiggle free of Sutton’s touch. His hand drops to the ground with a thud. And then, I can actuallyhearSutton’s smile. He lets out a sigh, then almost laughs before drawing closer again, kissing the skin of my shoulder gently. It sends electricity through me, and I jolt up, propping myself onto my elbows.

Sutton’s chest is somehow even more impressive in the dawn light. On the night of the date auction—a night that feels a lifetime away—I was shocked to learn that Sutton was a cowboy, at least, had been one. But seeing him like this, it leaves no question. His broad shoulders, the definition in his arms and chest, down to his tapering torso—it all screams manual labor. Even years in the city didn’t strip thatfrom him.

It’s hard to look at Sutton like this—happy, gorgeous, and carefree—and not pick up where we left off last night. Sleep tousled his brown curls into irresistible waves. Not to mention that lazy half smile, those eyes peeking out from heavy lids.

He looks drunk, though I know that can’t be possible. After all, I’m the one who drank half our bottle of wine last night after he fell asleep. And I might have had more had I not spilled the rest all over the dirt.

“Morning,” Sutton says, voice scratchy. He sits up, combing through his hair with his fingers, and groans playfully. “I hate to ask this. Because I already know the answer. But should we head back?”

Still unsure of how I’m feeling, let alone what I should say, I squeeze my mouth shut and offer a single nod.

Sutton leans in, cradling my face as his mouth presses against mine. His hands are massive, but they’re soft against my cheeks, careful with me as if I’ll break. My mouth parts, apparently not quite ready to resist temptation.

I’ve never felt so at peace.

He’s perfect.

Enjoy this.

Sutton pulls back to look at me again, shaking his head in disbelief. He brushes his thumb against my lips, his smile spreading wide.

“What?” I ask, wondering if he’s laughing at something stuck to my teeth or a bit of smeared dirt on my face.

Instead of answering right away, Sutton reaches for his phone, still in the pocket of his folded jeans. He aims it at me, and I cover my face. I’m sure my sporadic ten-minute stretches of sleep didn’t qualify as “beauty rest.” But Sutton guides my hands away. I again find myself copying his expression, which right now, I can only describe as content.Sutton takes a picture and hands the phone over to show me.

---