Page 93 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“That’s only fair, Dex. Two hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money.”
“Being married for three years to a guy who only knows how to do one thing—surf—is a long time.”
Britta lifts her shoulders in a slow shrug. “Unless we decide three years isn’t long enough.”
Britta tips her chin, and my breath catches. I could kiss her right now. We could take a chance that we could last longer than three years. Maybe even forever.
But that would be selfish on my part.
“Britt, I was focused at the Finals because you were there. But being halfway across the world from you messed everything up. I wanted to be with you instead of on the wave.”
“Did you ache for me?” she whispers.
“Ache?” That’s a good way to put it. “I ached from wiping out a dozen times in a row because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Britta slides her hands from under her chin and wraps her arms around my chest. Her cheek is warm against my sternum.“You’re not doing a great job convincing me we shouldn’t try being a real married couple.”
I scoff. “I left you when you needed me here. My self-interest overpowered any worries I had that you’d be alone. Worse, I didn’t even consider the fact you might need help withAnnie’s.All I cared about was my dream, not yours.”
“You offered to cancel the trip. I told you not to.”
“I could have canceled it weeks before, but I knew I was falling for you, and I wanted to run from those feelings.”
“You didn’t run fast enough,” she says, and I let out a small laugh, because she’s deadset right. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
“You mean pound?”
“Yeah. Why is it pounding?”
“Because I’m trying to tell you I don’t have it in me to be the husband you deserve.” I wrap both arms around her back. “And it’s killing me.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Dex.” Her breath skitters across my chest.
“Trust me, Britt, I’ve never done anything this hard.”
She shakes her head, rubbing her cheek and chin against my too-thick jumper. I wish I could feel her skin against my bare chest. “That’s not what I meant. I think if it’s killing you to tell me we can’t be together, then you’re probably exactly the kind of husband I need… you’re just not ready to be right now.”
I don’t know if she hears my heart stop, but it definitely does. I wanted her to understand, but I didn’t think it’d be so painful.
“That’s what you’re trying to tell me, right?” She pushes herself up until she’s sitting cross-legged next to me. “Our focus can’t be on each other. It has to be on the reasons we got married in the first place—so you can get to the Olympics, and I can start over here with my store.”
I hate that we’re not touching anymore, but the distance makes it easier to say what I have to. “I’m going to be gonefor weeks at a time on the Championship Tour—maybe months, if things go right. You can’t go with me. You’ve gotAn—” I catch myself. “Your soon-to-be-named coffeeshop and all the employees counting on it to succeed.”
Britta nods, then raises her eyes to meet mine. Even in the dark, the intensity of her blue irises bores straight through me. “Falling in love would distract us from what’s really important.”
I wince at the way she’s said it, even though she’s mostly right. “Not from what’sreally,reallyimportant, but from what has to be really important for the next few years.”
“So we have to stop ourselves from growing anymore attached.” Britta uncrosses her legs and pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “How do you think we should do that?”
“We follow the rules you already made,” I say firmly, now that we’re on the same page at the same time.
“Hmm.”
“What?” I peer at Britta. There’s too much hesitation in her hum.
“I kind of hate myself for making so many rules. I mean, we’re already breaking the not sleeping in the same bed one, and we’ll have to break it every time someone visits who thinks we’re really married.”
She’s got a good point. Plus, her bed is more comfortable than mine, and not just because she’s in it.
