Page 49 of Feels Like Falling
Her reassurance has my shoulders relaxing because aside from figuring out how to ask Ellison on a date, picking a restaurant was definitely the most stressful. I didn’t want to take her somewhere fancy and have her think I was trying to impress her like one of the losers from her parents’ country club, but I also didn’t want to take her somewhere too casual and have her feel like this is less than the life-changing evening it is.
“Well, let’s go then,” I say before leading her out to the truck, my hand gently resting on her lower back. Getting the door, I help her into her seat, and just as I’m about to close it, she leans forward and cups my face. Her lips are soft against mine, sensual and exploratory as I brace one arm on the roof and lean into her.
Ellison tastes like mint and something fruity—something delicious—she’sdelicious. And I have to stop myself before I’m tempted to slide my hand up her thigh and under the hem of her dress.
Hell, I’m already tempted, especially with the light citrusy scent of her perfume invading my senses and driving me wild. She told me it’s an oil, not a spray, because regular scents give her a headache.
And I get it, but whatever it is has me hard and fucking aching for her before we’ve even left the house.
Wrenching my mouth from hers, I have to blink several times to make her come into focus I’m so drunk on her taste. Ellison’s cheeks are flushed, the pink coloring making my dick twitch as I try to catch my breath.
“That’s a hell of a hello,” I manage, and she gives me a wicked grin.
“You’re a hell of a guy, Max.”
Smirking, I give her a quick peck on the lips before closing her door and rounding the hood of the truck. The AC is cranked, and it’s a good thing because I need to chill my ass out if I’m going to make it through dinner.
“Best Thing Since Backroads” by Jake Owen hums through the speakers as I travel the path I came before turning and heading toward the restaurant. Without thinking, I reach over and take Ellison’s hand in mine and relish the way she links our fingers together where they rest on her thigh.
“Tell me more about yesterday,” I say, giving her a smile. We’d talked a little while I cleaned up the candles and took down a couple of the farm animals but I want,need, more.
“Well, I told you I made a friend, Cal—he’s Hannah’s brother.” I nod because Hannah had been so excited about her brother puttin’ down roots here right along with her. “It was just soniceto talk to someone asme,you know?”
“I’m proud of you.” The words almost get lodged in my throat because I do know. Ellison has never been naturally outgoing. Any and all interactions she found herself in were almost always because of me or her parents.
“Thanks,” she says shyly. “Me too.”
We talk the rest of the way there about Cal and their classrooms and how she feels about being able to add some of the lessons she’s passionate about to the curriculum. Ellison is lighter since she got home, her wings starting to spread after being forced to stay closed for so long. She’s beautiful.
Resilient.
And I’ll do everything in my power to help her soar.
23
ELLISON
Montana listens the whole way to The Backyard, smiling and asking me questions, squeezing my hand, and is simply engaged in what I’m saying. Blake had always listened but it was different. I was barely keeping myself afloat, and he had supported me because he knew the intricacies of our world.
Dreams and ambitions were second to survival.
Frowning, I turn to Montana as we park, completely ignoring everything else but him. “Hey, I need to tell you something before we go in there.”
Eyebrows crawling up his forehead, he turns in his seat and faces me, the hard set of his jaw the only thing that betrays the way he’s bracing himself.
“I told you that Blake and I ended things?—”
Montana holds up his free hand as the other one tightens its hold. “You don’t need to tell me anything. I know you were with him for a while”—he swallows hard— “as long as you’re not with him now, I mean.”
“Blake and I were—are—friends.” He blinks at me so I continue. “We tried actually dating at first but realized it just wouldn’t work between us.”
“But you were with him for years.”
A statement, not a question, because he’s right.
“We were. As friends. It was easier for us to just continue the ruse—appease our parents and prevent any matchmaking that would require additional painful dinners at the country club or out in town.”
“He was your fake boyfriend?”
