Page 66 of Tell Me You Love Me

But she doesn’t.

Because damn, she’s a good kid. “You need to bridge now.” Softly, oddly sweet, she reaches back and pokes his hip. “I’m sitting up here, queen of my castle, where I could mess you up. So put your feet on the mats and shove up to knock me forward.”

Worried, Franklin’s gaze swings my way. So I nod.She’s right, buddy.

“If I’m sitting up here, balanced, then my hands are free to hit you. But if you buck me forward and I have to use my arms to balance…”

“Then you have no weapons to hit me with.”

Franklin Page may not be a natural-born fighter. But he’s a thinker. A planner. He understands theory, and it’s clear Molly already knows that about him.

She flops forward, despite his lack of bucking, and places one hand on the mat beside his face. Then she grabs his wrist and shows him how to loop her arm. “Now you can lock me in. If you trap my arms and keep me off balance, I’m completely stuck. Then you’re in charge and can flip us over.”

ROUND TWENTY

TOMMY

I wander through Bitsy’s shed and turn out the lights, one by one, now that I’m done working on her tractor. It’s acting up, and I know enough about the diesel engine to keep it semi-functional, at least until the storm season ends.

If she loses another tree, she’s gonna need it to clear away the debris

I’ve been sneaking in during the hottest parts of the day, which is, in theory, the most likely time for Alana and Frankie to either be inside in the air conditioning or in town, atBooks Books Booksas they prepare for the reopening.

In the evenings, I’ve been sneaking out around dinnertime, when delicious scents play on the cooling breeze, and I’m almost guaranteed to escape without eyes on the back of my head.

It’s a system that’s been working for a few days, anyway.

So far, so good.

Sweat and dust cling to my skin, tempting me to go home and dive straight into the lake to clear off the sticky layer. But the lake is for friends. For fun and silliness, for floating in the cool water and staring up at the trees.

Showers, on the other hand, are for washing off a hard day’s work and crawling into bed.

Alone.

‘Who is Tommy Watkins dating now?’ my ass. ‘Supermodel with abroken heart?’ Jesus. How little they know of the boy who took no one to bed,exceptAlana Page.

The fact I was never even tempted, no matter who strut through the clubs nor who entered my locker rooms pre and post-fights, would make headlines. They called me a playboy in the magazines, known for having a new woman on my arm at every event.

In reality, those I dated were nothing more than business decisions.

Aspiring model wants to be seen? Tommy Watkins could do with a plus-one. Friend of a friend who has had a rough life and could really benefit from a night out? Tommy Watkins has a seat to fill. Not-A-Doctor from the city needs a fun excuse to dress up and catch up with an old pal? Tommy’s gotcha.

I roll my eyes and walk the length of the shed, forced to flip each individual light switch off, leaning around messy machinery and pulling my shirt free when sharp edges grab onto the fabric.

If only the gossip magazines knew the truth about me.

Though, really, I’m glad they don’t.

Fuck them.

“No, Helen! I’m not coming to New York for a press tour.” Alana shoves the shed door open, oblivious to my presence as I freeze in the shadows, and then she closes the door and claims what she thinks is privacy.

She leans against the door, dropping her head backward until the two connect with athunk, running her free hand through her hair. “Iamthinking clearly, and now I’m stating a hard, firm boundary. It’s not happening. My son starts school in a week, and my mother isn’t doing so great.”

Cough, Tommy! Clear your throat. Do a fucking spinning heel kick.

Anything!

---