Page 58 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
I would be stupid to run away from this again. On some level, I realize that, but on another level…
“I think I might be stupid,” I confess. “Like, actually legitimately stupid.”
His lips hook up in a wry smile. “Because you’re thinking about telling me to hit the trail?”
“Maybe?” I squeak. “I don’t know. Just talking about this honestly has been scary. I feel like we’re in couples counseling, and we haven’t even fucked yet. That doesn’t seem fair.”
“You should get to come before you have to talk about your feelings,” he says, nodding as I hiss, “Yes!”
“Okay, then here’s what I think,” he says, pulling me close again. “I think we should sleep on it. Table any further discussion until tomorrow, when we’re sober and don’t have crustaceans on our heads.”
“I think that’s smart.”
“I have my moments.” He presses a kiss to my temple, soft and sweet. “We’ve got that nice hotel tomorrow night. With the hot tub on the balcony. I can make you come on my fingers in the hot tub, eat your pussy on a deck chair, and fuck you until you scream in the bed…all before we say another word about feelings.”
My cheeks flush hot. “Do I get to come every time?”
“Every time, or no further feelings talk required. Does that seem fair?”
“That seems very fair,” I say, fingers curling into his strong back as things low in my body begin to coil in anticipation. “Probably sexier to bang for the first time at a fancy hotel than in the back of your truck when we’re both sweaty and gross.”
“And we have to wake up and look people who have seen our truck rocking all night in the eye over bad campground coffee.”
“I brought stuff to make good coffee, but you have a point.” I nod, exhaling an easier breath. “Okay. So, we’ll put a pin in the real talk until tomorrow.”
And if I refuse to let myself come at least once tomorrow, maybe that pin lasts longer than a night…
“Until tomorrow.” He spins me in a slow circle that makes me feel even lighter. “Tonight, we’re the Mudbug Mating Call champions. And you know what that means.”
I grin. “No clue.”
“It means we have to take an obnoxious number of selfies in our sexy crowns.”
“And then ditch the crowns somewhere funny before we go to bed?” I ask. “I can’t see myself wanting to look at this monstrosity again, can you?”
“Fuck no,” he says. “Race you to the butter mudbug sculpture for selfie number one?”
I giggle. “No racing, psycho. I don’t race men in knee braces. But yeah, we’d better hurry. Before we lose the last of the daylight.”
We spend the next half hour taking progressively more unhinged selfies—in front of the butter sculpture, then by the stage where we put on our award-winning performances, then with Crawly, the giant stuffed crawfish in the beer tent. By the time we’re done, we’re both laughing our asses off, just two idiots at a festival, goofing off and pretending tomorrow isn’t coming.
But it is.
Tomorrow always comes.
And when it does, I’ll have to decide if I’m brave enough to stop running from the one person who makes me want to stay.
Chapter
Fourteen
PARKER
Something scratches against the truck bed liner. The sound pulls me from a dream about hot tubs and promises I plan to keep.
Scratch. Scratch. Scuttle.
My eyes open to darkness. The air mattress lists hard to the left—we definitely should have spent more on the self-inflating kind. My hip digs into the truck bed through the deflated plastic. Makena presses against my right side, one arm flung across my chest, her breath warm against my neck. She smells like bug spray and the sandalwood soap she used at the campground shower, mixed with that Makena smell that makes me want to pull her closer despite the heat.
