Page 126 of Sinful Like Us
I open my mouth, but he’s unusually quicker than me.
“If you’re going to say splitting up will be faster, I’m going to remind youagainthat it’s not an option.” He seems stricter. More adamant. Maybe he’s pissed we’re no longer dating. Maybe he’s just more serious now that the storm is looming and his comms are down.
Either way, he’s radiating theI’m in charge of youenergy that draws me in, and at the same time makes me want to push him away.
It’s spinning my head.
“I was going to mention it, yes,” I reply. “But I won’t anymore. Let’s just find the essentials and get this over with.” I reach for the list in my pocket and try to focus on the task at hand. Not on the fact that I’m standing next to my ex-boyfriend. Not the fact that strain still stretches between us.
No, definitelydon’t think about any of that, Jane.
Definitely not.
25
THATCHER MORETTI
We’re done.I’m done.
Her words rush through my head as we make the drive back to Mackintosh House. We’re alone in a cramped rental car, and there are so many things I want to say. But I’m fighting between keeping focus on the snowy road and trying to formulate words that won’t push her further away.
Unfuck this.
I want to.
I’m going to.
We just left the food market five minutes ago, and the wind has escalated substantially. Snow sticks to the ground, and my windshield freezes in the corners, the shitty defroster not working that great.
I steal a glance at Jane. She’s staring out her window, fist to her chin like she’s deep in thought.
One hour.
That’s how long it’s gonna take to get home.
Maybe even longer if the ice slows me down.
Suddenly, the car radio switches on as if it has a life of its own. Static and incoherent voices pour through. We both reach for the knobs at the same time.
Our fingers brush, skin-to-skin. My muscles tense. Images of her naked, sprawling across our bed flash before my eyes like some erotic movie. Heat blazes everywhere.
She inhales a shuddered breath and retracts as if she’s been electrocuted.
Goddammit.
Quickly, I shut off the radio and decrease the heat in the car. I’m sweating through my jacket and there’s a fucking snowstorm outside.
“My mom would say that’s a bad omen.” Jane breaks the uncomfortable silence.
She’s lost me. So I ask, “The radio turning on or us touching?”
“The radio.” She fidgets in her seat. I can tell she wants to say more, but she goes quiet again.
I keep one tensed hand on the steering wheel and shrug off my jacket with the other. I’m quick enough that she doesn’t have time to help me, and then I throw the fabric in the backseat.
My eyes never leave the road. The snow grows heavier, obstructing the streets and my line of sight. It’s my responsibility to bring her home safely.
Whatever discussion we need to have, it has to wait.
