Page 143 of Ten Day Affair
This is temporary. He'll be gone soon. I'll be gone soon.
My legs are loose and warm from the run. The endorphins should be hitting my bloodstream, flooding me with that familiar post-workout high. Instead, all I can think about is how Cole's breathing has fallen into sync with mine. How his shadow moves beside mine in the sand.
We pass the spot where I first saw him climb up from the beach that night. Where everything started to unravel.
Don't think about it.
But my body remembers anyway. The weight of him against me. The way his mouth felt?—
I shake my head hard enough to make my ponytail swing.
"You okay?"
"Oh, yeah. A bug flew in my face," I lie.
The silence takes over again, stretching between us like a rubber band ready to snap. He's being careful, walkingexactly parallel to me, maintaining just enough distance that our arms won't accidentally brush.
He thinks I'm fragile. That I might break.
The thought makes my jaw clench. I'm not some delicate flower he needs to handle with kid gloves. I'm furious. Hurt. But I'm not broken.
Five more steps. Ten. The sound of his feet hitting sand in perfect time with mine grates against my nerves.
Say something. End this.
"Palm Beach has been a lucrative venture for you, in more ways than one."
I'm being a passive-aggressive bitch, and I'm not sorry about it. He doesn't deserve the opportunity to make excuses with a vulnerable opening.
Cole's step falters slightly, but he keeps up. He looks at me, trying to figure out what I'm getting out, but doesn't say anything. So I twist a little further.
"That was smart to keep that little tidbit about being the very person who was forcing a vote. You went so far as to act like you weren't sure how you would vote."
I don't look at him, but I can feel him turning the words over. Choosing his response carefully, like he's defusing a bomb. Fight back. Give me a reason to hate you properly.
"That's a little skewed, but you're right to kick me in the balls. I deserve it."
Fuck him. He doesn't get to own this.
His restraint makes my chest tight with rage that I don't know how to release. I want him to defend himself, to argue. I want him to give me something to push against.
Instead, he gives me nothing.
It's best if I stop. Nothing he gives me will be enough, and it will only make me madder.
The breeze picks up, carrying the smell of sunscreenfrom early fishermen setting up chairs in the distance. My skin is sticky with dried sweat and salt air.
My feet slow down without my permission. Then stop completely.
Leave it alone. Walk away.
But my body won't move. Won't let me take another step toward my deck and the safety of putting walls between us. I turn to face him. His blue-gray eyes are cautious, waiting. He's letting me direct this.
For the first time since that horrible phone call from the reporter, I say his name.
"Cole."
It comes out softer than I would have wanted. Fewer weapons, more surrender.
