Page 18 of Give You Up

“I’m not a character in one of your romance books, Syn. We will not make some kind of pact that we confess our darkest secrets once we’re married to other people. Anyway, I don’t plan on marrying. Marriage is for the faithful, for those willing to compromise, and for the idealistic who believe two people can be happy and stick with one another for life. For life, Syn. What a bunch of bullshit.”

He kicks at the ground.

“I feel the same.”

His eyes widen. “You do? But you’ve always wanted the two point five kids, the house with the white picket fence, the big dogs that you would name Red and Rover, and the husband who would dote on you and the kids.”

“It’s what I used to want, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“When?”

“After I left Mossy Rock. I wasn’t in a good place mentally, Taron.”

“Are you in a better place now, Pixie Dust?” He swipes at strands of hair near my brow.

The concern in his voice, the earnestness in his eyes . . . I swallow past the lump in my throat. He cares so much, and I am a jerk for not caring enough. I should have given Taron the benefit of the doubt and faced the unraveling of my perfect life with him at my side. Instead, I hurt my best friend when I betrayed his trust and ran away.

“I am. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad.”

He cinches my waist with his hands and tugs me close. I rest my head on the spot over his heart. Can hear thethump,thump,thumpof his heartbeats.

More content than I’ve been in a long time, I close my eyes and feel everything around me, like I did back in the days of me and Taron wrapped in each other’s arms.

Inhaling, I catch a whiff of his scent. Minty. Soapy. Clean. Virile male when he brings my lower half against his heat. His fingers press into my skin through my jeans, and I rub my nose over his shirt. Soft cotton. Gentle pressure from his fingertips. What are those thick fingers capable of?A lot. Like making me tingle in all the right places a lot.

Unhinged by how much I want to drag him inside his truck and do bad things to his rock-hard body, I spin out of his hold, step around him, and hurry inside his truck. His chuckle is achingly sexy, and so not fair that he can get me wet with his laughter alone. No man should have that kind of power.

He gets in the truck, and there is a calm to him I find pleasing. Is us touching his healing salve, and what draws out the storm from the pool of ink of his eyes? Can I calm his storm with more touching? Take away this need of his for answers and closure with touchingandkisses?

What if I make it worth his while, this getting to know one another, enough that he gets closurewithoutme having the urge to tell him my secrets and my mom’s? Taron and I can focus on the here and now, living and just being. We wouldn’t stress over the uncertainty of where we will be three months, six months, or even a year from now.

Tucking the tempting idea to later revisit, I concentrate on the sexy guy taking up a lot of space in his big truck. He is asking if I am up for grabbing a bite to eat.

“Won’t your girlfriend mind?” I buckle my seatbelt.

He straps in too. “I have one of those?”

There is a teasing lilt in his voice.

“The redhead with you at Bayside.”

“Cousin.”

“Do you vacation with your cousin often?”

“Yeah, we’re close, so we party, hang, and vacay together every chance we get.”

“What about the girl sitting next to you in our elective class? Again, I’m sorry for spilling coffee on you.”

“No need for apologies, Pixie Dust. Wasn’t your fault that bastard tripped you.”

“Tell me you won’t do anything to him? You have enough to deal with from your teammates. Well, is she?” And there goes my pride for continuing to pry.

“You leave my teammates for me to deal with. As for other girls, I am interested in one girl only, and she’s sitting next to me. So, how about it? Will you grab a bite with me?”

His wish.

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