Page 129 of Beyond the Stroke

His touch on my hip.

The heat simmering between us.

And the knowledge that tonight, something’s going to give.

thirty-five

. . .

RORY

The moment we walk inside the house, Summer steps out of her heels and rushes toward the bedroom. After dropping my keys on the counter, I pull at my tie and follow her down the hallway.

The car ride home had been quiet, but she hadn’t seemed upset. More distant, like she’s in her head. The same way I’ve been in mine.

After seeing my parents at the auction, I’d needed to head straight to a media panel with Connor.

The panel was fine. Connor had been professional, which was better than I expected. But while I answered questions about team chemistry and upcoming meets, all I could think about was Summer.

For me, I’d been holding it together all damn night.

Touching Summer, having her hands on me. Kissing her in front of everyone and pretending like it didn’t wreck me every time our lips touch had become too much. My plan to show Summer how much this chemistry between us isn’t just for show only resulted in whittling away what little restraint I have left.

When I walk into our bedroom, I expect Summer to have already changed. But I find her in the closet, standing there in the ocean blue gown that’s been slowly killing me all night, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror. It feels like she’s been in her head since the auction. For some reason the Covey painting rattled her. Maybe it’s an artist thing. But if my suspicions are correct, there’s more to it.

“Hey, Wildflower,” I say softy, reaching up to pull my tie off.

“Did I do okay tonight?” she asks, an unreadable expression on her face as her fingers reach up to start unzipping her dress.

“What do you mean?” I ask, tugging off my cufflinks.

“Do you think we were convincing? That people believed we’re a real couple?”

“Summer, you were great. Why are you?—"

“What about you?” she cuts in, unclasping her necklace and turning to set it on the closet island.

I let out a slow breath, unbuttoning my sleeves while trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

“What about me?”

“You looked at me like you meant it,” she says, her voice going quiet. “Like it was real. You touched me like you meant it. It felt—” She swallows, her eyes darting away before finding mine again. “It felt too easy.”

At Summer’s words, my chest tightens.

“That’s because I wasn’t pretending.”

I take another step toward her.

“Nothing was fake tonight, Summer. I don’t have to fake it with you.”

At my words, something in Summer’s expression shatters. I’ve seen it before. She’s overwhelmed and freaking out.

Because while she’d expected to play pretend tonight, she’d felt it just like I had.

“Wildflower—”

“I never—” she blurts, but quickly snaps her mouth shut. I watch as her hands curl into fists by her sides. “I’ve never—” she tries again, voice shaking with frustration. “A guy has never made me finish before.”

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