Page 90 of Over & Out

At least I can take her hand as she tells me about meeting the girl. I thread my fingers through hers the way I wanted to earlier now that we’re in the privacy of this truck.

Chris surprises me by telling me it’s her bike the girl was riding.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something like “Really?” Like I didn’t already know that. But I’m already having a hard enough time keeping my mouth shut around her. I want to tell her everything. Every dark and dirty secret. But I can’t, not if I want her to stay, and that’s my fucking shame right now.

As she tells me about how she found the girl and how it felt like the strangest coincidence that it was her bike—that the girl could have been her—I wrestle with my own turmoil. I want so fucking badly to tell her about our coincidence, howI fell for her before I knew it was her. But it’s so messy I can’t even begin to go there. I just want to enjoy every precious second I get with her before she hates me. I know that’s selfish, but right now, I don’t fucking care. All I want is Chris.

I drive to her place, since I don’t want to assume she wants to go anywhere else. I don’t want to presume she wants to be with me right now either, so I want her to have an easier out than being at the beach house.

When I put the truck in park, neither of us makes a move to leave. Chris grips my hand tight as she peers out the rain-streaked window. I want to ask her what’s going on in her head, but I don’t want to push her either. So we sit in silence for a bit, until Chris looks over at me. Her wet eyes are killing me.

“Do you want to come in?” she asks.

My stomach flips. More than anything, I want to come in. But I don’t want her to feel pressured to do anything she doesn’t want to do. The more she’s with me, the more I realize I have no right to feel so fucking free and easy around her. I thought being around her would make me happy, and it did. It so fucking did. But seeing her hurting like this just reminds me of how much I’m going to end up hurting her. How much of this is built on a lie.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” I say, the words so unwanted I barely manage to get them out.

The hurt that skitters across her face has me closing my eyes, bringing our joined hands to my lips. “I want to, more than anything,” I say. “I just—there’s a lot going on that makes this complicated.”

When I open my eyes, Chris is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“You know I’m a grown woman, right? That I can make decisions about my life?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” she says. She’s not crying anymore. She’s a little pissed, and for some reason, that makes me feel better. “Then trust that I’m in this situation knowing the outcome isn’t going to be riding off on horses into the sunset.”

It feels like a knife has jabbed its way between my ventricles. But I smile. “I can get us horses. I can get you fucking anything, Chris.”

Her eyes seem to melt, her pupils widening, and suddenly, none of the rest of it matters. “Come here,” I say, unfastening both our seat belts and pulling her over so she’s on top of me. It’s a tight fit because of the steering wheel, but I like it like that.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” I tell her, my forehead pressed against her collarbone. “And the way you smell?—”

“I’m covered in dried mud,” Chris says as she threads her hands in my hair. The feeling sends tingles down my scalp and the back of my neck. Farther down. “And I probably smell like mud and sweat.”

“You smell good enough to fucking eat,” I growl against her, dropping my teeth onto her shoulder.

She laughs, and at least for right now, I think things are going to be okay.

Chapter 30

Chris

“Well, shit,” Hopper says as he looks around my place.

I laugh as I kick off my boots. “You can hang your jacket there,” I say, suddenly slightly self-conscious about my little house. He’s been outside before, when I’ve had to swing by when he’s been in the car. But that was before. There was never reason for him to come in.

“It’s not much,” I say, “but I like it.”

“Not much?” Hopper says as he walks around. “Chris, it’s like you in house form. I fucking love it.”

I try to ignore the splash of heat those words sends to my insides. Try to tell myself his choice of words doesn’t mean more than the place is cute. Because it is cute. I’ve worked hard on it.

I tell Hopper about how I rent this place from an old man, a friend of Mac’s dad. Both of them are in a home now. He doesn’t ever ask for the rent, but I send it to hisaccount every month like clockwork. “He’s a crotchety old bastard, though,” I say, laughing.

“Did you ever consider buying it from him?” Hopper asks.

“Yes, with all my thousands of dollars,” I say with an eye roll. Then I freeze, nearly straining my eyeballs.

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