Page 84 of The Americana Playbook

I’m ashamed that I thought I could rewrite the narrative by taking control of it. Because what does exposing my parents, and bringing an end to the reign of the Montgomerys in America’s government, getme? I’ll probably still be trying to convince myself I don’t need to check the door again. It will just be a different door, a different lock.

I eye the shower where Fitz’s shampoo sits on the shelf.

What does any of this get Fitz?

It’s only now I selfishly realize the impact it might have on him.

I press my hands into the marble, leaning all my weight into them, hoping it might distract them enough. But that’s the thing—it’s not my hands that are the issue. It’s my head. And the feelings are so intense that I can’t think of anything else but making sure the door is locked.

“Screw it.” I flee from the bathroom, slipping the lip of the secondary lock so I can open the one on the handle of my bedroom door.

“I thought you went to bed.”

I jump, pressing my hand to my chest.

Fitz stands from where he sits on the floor between the couch and coffee table. “Did I wake you?”

I take a calming breath. “No, I… I just wanted some water.” I decide to lie, walking into the kitchen and filling a glass that I down in one swallow.

For a second, I contemplate refilling it and bringing it to my room but decide I might need a reason to leave it again in an hour. Or another three minutes.

Abandoning the glass in the sink, I open the cabinet, taking a handful of yellow Starburst, even though I’ll have to brush my teeth again.

I walk back out to the living room. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? Don’t you have an early workout?”

“Can’t sleep,” Fitz mumbles.

Now, I don’t feel like just an idiot. I feel like aguiltyidiot.

I sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

I hold out my arms and let them fall to my side. “I’m probably the thing that’s keeping you up.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Fitz gives me a soft smile before slinking back to the floor.

I’m thankful that the only light on in the apartment is the lamp sitting on the side table at the far end of the couch, so the warmth of my cheeks isn’t so highlighted.

And that’s when I remember…

“You kissed me before.”

“That’s what engaged couples do,” he says, picking up something small before finally turning his head to me and winking. “Among other things.”

My arms loosen from across my chest and fall to my sides. “Fake engaged couples only do that when absolutely necessary.”

“Who says it wasn’t?”

I roll my brain back, trying to remember the placement of the media convoy.

“Are you upset I kissed you?”

I don’t need to think about that. “No.”

“Good.” Fitz rubs his chin as he refolds his legs covered in navy joggers. “You would’ve been waiting forever for that apology.”

His eyes find mine like pairs of magnets. For a second, I wonder if Fitz would be upset if I kissed him without apology, without having a good enough reason apart from there’s something about the way he stares at me with this soft, lopsided grin that’s as hypnotizing as the swirls of green in his hazel eyes.

---