Page 93 of Manhattan Secret

“Clever,” I laugh. “You’re going to do great things, Lachlan Fierro. You and your criminally inclined mind.”

Kisses like a diamond necklace dot around my throat, I arch back to give him better room. I love his lips. I love his attention to detail when he doesn’t leave an inch of my skin un-kissed.

“You’ll be right there to share in these great things, baby.” He declares, putting the last spear into my heart. “You only need to tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

Maybe I can be, I muse.

We don’t have to be doomed.

College is only four years, I’ll still only be thirty and he’ll be twenty-three, with a few more years of life experience behind him.

It can happen.

College lovers meet up all the time and rekindle their relationship.

I’ll have to pretend he hasn’t slept with scores of other girls in the interim, but to have Lachlan in my life permanently… one day? I can do that. I think.

Even as my heart and belly both lurch imagining another woman getting his sleepy morning smile or his tactility.

One thing I know. By giving myself this summer with him, I’ve set myself up for the biggest heartache in history.

I’m weak and a coward and nothing could have prepared me for Lachlan.

Looking at his happy face on my pillow, I know it will be worth it, one day.

Carefully. So very carefully, I broach what he doesn’t like to talk about.

“Lachie, you should experience those great things without me.”

Instantly, his brows become angry.

“You know it’s going to be difficult, right? All your college workload isn’t going to leave room for a girlfriend, least of all one hundreds of miles away.”

“Laney, stop.”

“Think about this seriously for a second, okay? It doesn’t have to be over, altogether. Maybe we set a date to meet up when you’re finished college.”

Oh, fuck. I’ve really gone all in with that and regret stings the back of my throat when he rolls himself out of bed like lightning.

“If you wanna end it, then just be fucking adult enough to fucking end it.”

On goes his shirt, then he grabs his jeans.

“Can we just talk about it, Lachie? Please? I don’t want you to get mad.”

“Seriously, babe. Stop.”

I’m never babe. He calls me Laney, mouse or baby. Never babe.

Every girl at school he calls babe.

I made no promises and neither has he, but he’s said certain things that implies promises and I care too much …too much… for him to keep them when it’s obvious his new life will be so different very soon.

“The Riley blackmail...”

“I dealt with it. You’re using it as a fucking excuse.”

I climb out of bed, not caring I’m naked. Which never happened with any boyfriend. Not so much with Lachlan. I’m comfortable with my body around him.

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