Kiss and Don’t Tell

The breeze picks up, blowing through the open doors of the pool room and pushing past the doublewide lounger I’m sharing with Winnie. My migraine has subsided for the most part, I have some lingering pain in my shoulders from the tension, and my neck is stiff, but that’s nothing compared to the violent, blackout pain I felt earlier. This is manageable.

After Winnie’s car was delivered—yes, she sweet-talked the towing guy into trying—and the boys paid for the service before Winnie could even get her credit card out, they all went for a hike together—even Halsey—since the trails are pretty dry and it’s a gorgeous day out. That left me alone to lie around with Winnie.

We’re lying flat on the lounger and I have my body curled against hers, my arm around her waist, holding her close. We’ve been talking on occasion, but also allowing nature to do the talking.

I hear Winnie tapping away on her phone, which buzzes with incoming text messages. Most likely Max and Katherine checking on her. I’m glad Winnie has them.

When we headed out to the pool area, Winnie changed into shorts but kept her crop top on, something I’ve appreciated because I’ve been able to graze her bare skin every chance I get. Now I smooth my thumb over her stomach and enjoy the simple human touch, having her near me like this.

Noticing I’m awake, she tucks her phone away and asks, “How’s your head?”

“Good.”

She glances at her phone again, picks it up, and holds it so the screen is out of my eyesight. She types a text in return, then shifts in the chair, twisting so she’s facing me. Her eyes are still sleepy, but fucking dreamy as shit with their dark, mysterious blue color. And those lips—they’re plump, full, and calling to me. Every time I glance at them, I remember how bold they were in claiming that first kiss. Nothing has been sexier to me than that moment, when she was the one who made the first move.

“So, are we going to talk about it?” she asks.

“Talk about what?” I ask, slightly confused.

“Your migraine.” Her hand falls to my bare chest, where she draws tiny circles along my skin.

“Nothing to really talk about.”

She looks away, but continues her circles. “I saw the video, Pacey,” she says quietly. And just from the tone of her voice, I know exactly what she’s talking about. She must have spoken with the boys, which led her to look up the clip of me getting struck in the head. It’s not a great clip. The sound of the puck hitting my helmet is deafening. Watching me fall flat on my back, even worse. I was actually lucky I managed to flick my legs forward rather than tearing ligaments and muscles in my knees and groin. Thank fuck. But I don’t want to make a big deal about it. Not with Winnie.

“You worried about me?” I ask in a teasing tone, but the look she gives me says it all.

She is.

“I know I have no room to say anything, but . . . that was a hard hit, Pacey.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh.

“Aren’t you concerned, you know, about the migraines?”

“It’s fine. They come and go,” I say casually, even though I know in the back of my mind that Doc would be up my ass right now if he heard I’d had another one.

“My, uh, my mom had migraines.” Her voice is so feeble that it strikes a chord inside me.

Fuck. I didn’t even think about her mom or how Winnie might relate to this.

“They were really bad,” Winnie continues. “I helped her through them, but there were some days when they would never go away, where they were constant. She lost weight because she was so nauseated all the time. And I know I don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to saying anything about your life, but I just want you to think about being careful, you know? Your head isn’t something to mess with.”

Her phone buzzes on the side table, but she doesn’t reach for it this time.

I capture her hand and bring the backs of her knuckles to my lips for a soft kiss. “I appreciate your concern, Winnie.”

And I leave it at that, because frankly, I’m not ready to have this conversation with anyone. Not the doctor, not the boys, not my own family. Because I know what the result of that conversation will probably be, and there’s no way in hell I’m even close to being ready to hang up my skates.

She takes that moment to glance at her phone and then set it back down again. She closes her eyes and I notice her eyelashes start to brim with moisture, so I squeeze her hand and ask, “Are you okay?”

She nods, but a tear falls down her cheek. I wipe it away before she can.

“Sorry,” she says. “Rough day, and this just brought up a lot of emotions for me, lots of memories, and I’ve been trying to process them, but obviously not doing a good job.”

“Then talk to me about them. What are you feeling?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. Really.”

“It doesn’t look as if you’re good. You’re crying, Winnie.”

“It’s fine, seriously.” She takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile. “Since I got Minnie back, she’s currently flirting with the Teslas—”

“Better be mine,” I add to keep things lighthearted.

“Pretty sure it is. But I think I’m going to go see Uncle RJ tomorrow. I’ve been here for almost a week and it’s time that I do the thing I came here to do.”

“I thought part of being here was relaxing.”

“It is, and I have . . .”

I lift her chin up. “Don’t fucking tell me you plan on leaving again. I thought we talked about this.”

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I’d tell you. I promise—no sneaking off.”

That alleviates some of the pressure, but I still don’t like that she’s considering leaving.

“Anyway, I think I just want to go see him and complete my mission. I don’t like having it hanging over my head.”

“Okay, so when do we leave?” I ask, inviting myself along for the trophy theft, because I know she’d never ask me to go. She seems to be opposed to help.

“We?” she asks. “Oh, you don’t—”

“I want to go,” I say, moving my hand to her cheek and rubbing my thumb against her soft face.

“I appreciate that, but I think this is something I need to do on my own.”

Even though I don’t like it, I can understand her need for privacy. “I respect that. But if you get cold feet or want someone to sit in the car and wait for you, or have the getaway vehicle ready, I’m your guy.”

“Thank you.” She sits up a little taller and glances at her phone. Who’s she talking to that’s so important? “Do you actually mind if I head to my room? I want to go over an action plan and make sure my outfit will fit a stolen trophy.”

“Uh, sure, go ahead,” I answer, feeling confused by her abrupt need to leave. Was it something I said? Is it because of the person she’s been texting?

“Okay.” She goes to stand but I tug on her hand and she looks over her shoulder at me.

“Everything good?”

She nods. “Yup. Everything is good.” She offers me a smile that barely lifts her lips and then she heads into the house.

Hell . . . what was that about? She completely shut down on me. Was it because of the head injury? I know today was a lot for her emotionally. Maybe she just needs some breathing room.

In the distance, I hear the guys laughing, and I lift up from the lounger to see them walking into the backyard from one of the many trail accesses we have here. I’m jealous they got to go on a hike. Being out here, in nature, away from it all, is one of my favorite parts of the off-season, and we swore to each other if any of us are traded at any point in time, we’ll still come here together.

As they draw closer, I raise my lounger into a sitting position and place my hands behind my head.

“Look at that hunk of meat,” Taters says, walking into the pool area. “Where’s your lady friend?”

“Went to her room to work on some things,” I say casually, even though I still have worry in the pit of my stomach about it.

“Good,” Hornsby says, as he takes a seat on the lounger next to me. “We need to talk to you.”

I know exactly what this is going to be. It’s the same conversation they had with me after the injury when I was trying to get back on the ice quicker than I should have. And it’s the same conversation they had with me after the sixth game I missed because of a migraine.

“Before you even start, I’m fine, okay? It was a short migraine—”

“We called Doc,” Hornsby says.

I sit up. “What the actual fuck?”

“We have a responsibility,” Taters says. “And that’s making sure that our All-Star goalie is okay.”

“I am okay. It was one fucking migraine—”

Calmly, Posey steps in and asks, “If it was one migraine, then why are you freaking out about it?”

I go to answer, but Hornsby says, “Doc let it slip that you saw him before you left, that you’ve been having head pain. Dude, this is serious.”

“I know,” I shout. “Do you really think I would fuck around with this?”

“I think you have too much pride to admit when you need help,” Taters shoots back. “I think you’re worried that if you dive deep into this issue, you’re going to find out something you don’t want to know.”

“And what the fuck do you think that is, since you seem to know everything about me?” I ask.

“That they’re going to tell you your time on the ice is over,” Posey says.

And, yup, he nailed it on the head. That’s my biggest fear, being told I can’t play anymore. Life without hockey? Fuck, I can’t even think about it. I don’t know what life is without hockey. Without feeling the ice beneath my skates. Without strapping on my pads to protect my body. Without tracking the puck with my laser focus, daring anyone to try to score on me. Without watching the game play out, sending signals and words to help protect my team. It’s not physically possible to leave that. To hit “stop.”

I haven’t known anything else my entire life other than this sport that I live and breathe, and to have it stripped from me without a goodbye, without closure? No fucking way.

I look away, my jaw clenched tight.

“I know that’s not what you want to hear,” Posey says in his soft tone. He’s always the guy in the group trying to moderate the arguments. “But don’t you think it’s important to find out? What if something serious happened and you’re ignoring it? What if you really shouldn’t be on the ice? It’s not worth it, man.”

“Would you be able to accept that?” I shoot back to the boys. “Would you be able to just . . . throw it all away, give it all up?”

Posey stands with his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground.

Holmes is leaning against the pool room wall, not saying a damn word, even though I know he’s the one who told the guys what’s going on.

And Hornsby and Taters—they avoid eye contact as they stare at their hands.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” I say. “So unless you put yourself in my goddamn shoes, you can’t have an opinion on what I do.”

“We sure as hell can have an opinion,” Taters says, his voice rising. “You’re our brother, and I’m not going to sit back and watch you make a mistake because you’re too scared of the consequences. And I would expect any one of you to treat me the same damn way.” He pushes his finger into my chest, his eyes lit with anger. “There’s something wrong with your head. You need to get it checked out. Fully checked out. And whatever the end result is, we’ll be there for you, but I refuse to stand by and not say a goddamn thing.”

“Same,” Hornsby says. “This is serious, man. This isn’t a choice; this is a requirement. It’s not as if you have a bad knee and some rehab will get you through it. This is your head, man. Your brain. They need to make sure that everything is okay.”

“He’s right,” Holmes says from the sidelines.

“It would make us all feel better if you went back home and checked on things,” Posey adds.

“I’m not going back to Vancouver. This is my break, my time off. The last place I want to spend it is in Vancouver, where it’s crawling with fans. It’s bad enough I’ve had people ask me how I am while being here. Vancouver would be even worse.”

“We’re not saying stay there the whole time,” Hornsby says in a convincing voice. “Just go talk to Doc, get things checked out one more time, see a neurologist if Doc says to, and then go from there. We’ll extend our time here. It’s not as though we have anyone to answer to.” Hornsby looks at Taters and says, “Not to rub salt in the wound.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“Please, Doc wants to see you,” Posey says.

“What about Winnie?” I ask in a whisper. “I’m not about to just leave her here with you four.”

“Afraid she’ll fall for one of us?” Taters asks in a teasing tone.

“No chance,” I answer. “But it’ll be awkward for her.”

“No offense,” Hornsby says, “but you just met the girl. This is your head we’re talking about. That’s more important. She lives in Seattle—that’s two and a half hours from Vancouver. If you really like her, try some long-distance shit.”

“I don’t know.” I grimace, my head starting to get fuzzy from this conversation. “I should go lie down.”

“Just think on it,” Hornsby says. “We’ll help you any way we can. Chartering a plane would be the fastest and easiest, and Doc can pick you up from the airport. Who knows? Maybe it won’t be anything.”

Or it’ll be everything that stops me from going on the ice.

“I’ll give it some thought,” I say, knowing damn well I’m not going anywhere. When I stand, my body sways to the side, and I grip the back of the lounger to regain my balance. Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut, my head spinning. Deep breaths.

It’s just because of this conversation, because it was a tiresome day with the migraine. That’s all.

But, of course, the boys notice. How could they not? I probably look like an old person trying to gather themselves before they start walking.

They exchange worried glances, and I try not to growl in frustration.

“I’m fine,” I say as I move toward the door.

Just as I reach for it, Holmes says, “You either go see Doc, or I tell Coach.”

And there it is—the ultimatum. I’m just surprised it came from Holmes and not Taters.

I pause, my fingers gripping the handle of the sliding glass door. Slowly I turn around and look Holmes in the eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says, his voice completely unapologetic, not faltering. “You either go see Doc, or I tell Coach. I’m not fucking around. These three might not go to that level, but I will.” Intensely, he looks me dead in the eye and says, “I already lost one brother, I’ll be damned if I lose another.” Then he pushes off the wall and heads in the opposite direction.

Fuck.

If Coach finds out, he is not only going to force me to come home, but he’s going to get the front office involved, and that’s the last thing I want to have happen. They don’t need to know their star goalie is having issues. That opens the door for trades, for rookies to take my spot.

And Holmes knows that. He knows the card he just threw on the table.

I don’t have a fucking choice.

I have to go see Doc.

JOSH: Hey, have a second to talk on the phone?

I stare down at the phone, my grip growing tighter and tighter. Dude has the worst fucking timing. I’m in no mood to deal with this bullshit.

Pacey: Rather not talk. Unlike Dad, I know how to hold a grudge.

I’m feeling ripe, ready to take my anger out on someone, anyone who steps in my way. The last thing I want to do is leave Banff, especially because of something correlating to my injury. I don’t want to be reminded of what happened to me. I don’t want to be reminded of the fear. I don’t want to be reminded of the possibility that my career might very well be over.

Josh: So that’s where we’re at?

Pacey: You put us there.

Josh: So is that why I’ve seen your picture on the Internet . . . with Winnie? Is that so you can get back at me?

How the fuck . . .

Jesus Christ, I should have known people were taking pictures of me and Winnie when we were out on the town, exploring.

Pacey: You really don’t know me at all.

Josh: You’re right, I don’t. But you realize, you’re with my Winnie, right?

Pacey: She’s not yours anymore. You gave up the best thing that’s ever happened to you. You were an asshole to her. You can’t claim her.

Josh: So you’re not doing this out of spite?

Pacey: I have better things to do with my life than figure out ways to spite my half-brother. You act as if I spend time thinking about you.

My fingers are flying.

My mind is shooting off with angry fireworks.

I can’t seem to control this mad, pulsing beat through my veins that’s propelling me to stoop to Josh’s level.

Level asshole.

Is that why he’s reaching out? After all these years? Is that why Dad is forcing me to speak to him? Because of Winnie? Does Dad know about her too? Fuck.

Josh: It’s just convenient . . .

Pacey: You can take your ellipses and shove them up your ass. Our meeting is purely coincidental. She doesn’t even know you’re my half-brother and I plan on keeping it that way.

Josh: Want some advice about Winnie? Never keep a secret from her.

Pacey: Pretty sure I’m not going to take advice from the piece of shit who left her alone when her mom was sick.

Josh: Watch it. You have no idea what you’re talking about.

Pacey: She’s told me everything, you prick. I know exactly what I’m talking about.

Josh: I see.

Pacey: Good. Now fucking be gone.

I set my phone down and take a deep breath.

Fuck.

AFTER EATING dinner alone out on the patio and booking a private plane to Vancouver for tomorrow, I take my dishes into the kitchen, where Stephan is cleaning up. Winnie has been in her room since she left me on the lounger, and I decided to give her space, because it seemed as though she needed it.

I needed it too. I needed time on my own to think, to weigh the consequences of my decisions. Being bombarded by my teammates about my head and my future wasn’t what I was expecting to happen today. Nor was I expecting Josh to talk to me about Winnie. It’s been a rough night, to say the least.

When I turn to face the living room, I notice Hornsby and Taters playing chess, while Holmes and Posey are both reading. Looks as if Holmes started Winnie’s book that she got him. I would be excited to see that if I wasn’t ready to take him out with a right hook. All of them—I have a consuming urge to take them all out. I get that they’re being protective, but they have no idea what their good intentions are putting me in. They don’t know . . . fuck, they don’t know how scared I am. I’m too goddamn young to retire, I have plenty of time left in my skates.

When I start to move past them, they all look up.

Instead of ignoring them, I say, “Booked my plane. I suggest you leave me the fuck alone until I contact you.”

“Can’t be mad at us for caring,” Taters says.

“I can be mad all I want.”

“Not if you need me to drive you to the airport,” Hornsby says, moving his rook up the board. He flashes me a smile. “See you in the morning, sweetheart.”

Not bothering to comment back, I head to Winnie’s room and knock on the door gently.

“Come in,” she calls out.

I open the door and quickly shut it behind me, blocking out the guys. Anger sears through me, but the minute I see Winnie, that anger begins to dissipate.

I lean against the closed door and study Winnie, who’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, notebook in one hand, pen in the other. She’s wearing her pajamas—silk shorts and a tank top—and her blonde hair is braided into two French braids. She looks so goddamn adorable.

“Hey, how are you?” I ask her.

She smiles at me, and this time it reaches her lips. “Good. Spent some time reading over my mom’s old diary. Felt good to reconnect with her. How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” I answer honestly—another reason why I didn’t want to see Doc, because I am feeling better. This migraine didn’t last as long as the other ones, which could take up to twenty-four hours, sometimes longer, to fade. And that knowledge irritates me, because it’s not something the boys took into consideration before throwing down their threats.

“Good.” She sets her notebook and pen on her nightstand and pats her bed, inviting me over. She looks so happy, I feel as though I’m going to steal that joy from her with the news of my departure.

Knowing I have to say something to her, that I can’t just leave and hope for the best, I take a seat on her bed. “I have to talk to you about something.”

Her brow pulls together. “What’s up?”

I pull on the back of my neck. “I have to fly to Vancouver tomorrow.”

“Oh . . . why?”

“The boys were really concerned about my migraine. They told our team doctor, and he wants me to come in so he can check me out, run some tests. I didn’t want to, but Holmes threatened to tell our coach, so . . . I booked a private jet to get me there tomorrow. I don’t plan on being gone for long, but I do have to leave.”

Winnie takes my hand in hers. “I think that’s probably smart, Pacey. You don’t want to mess around with a head injury. Trust me. My mom didn’t go to the doctor for a long time and I always wondered what it would’ve been like if she did. Would they have been able to help her if she’d gone sooner.”

“Yeah, the guys are adamant about it even though I’m less than thrilled. This migraine wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the others.”

“They’re looking out for you. No need to be angry about it.”

“I’m worried about what you’re going to do,” I say, speaking my truth.

“Well, I’ve been doing some thinking, and even though I’ve enjoyed my time here, I think it’s going to be hard for me to stick around after I talk to Uncle RJ. Don’t worry, I was going to tell you, not just leave, but I think I’m going to drive back to Seattle afterward.”

“What?” I ask, panic setting in. “What happened to wanting to find yourself while you’re here, feeling a connection with your mom, figuring out your future?”

“Although I think the idea has merit, I just . . .” She doesn’t look me in the eyes. “I don’t feel her here.”

“So, you’re going back to Seattle? You said you set out to go on an adventure. I wouldn’t say a week is an adventure.”

“Hey.” She removes her hand from mine. “You don’t get to put a timeline on adventure.”

“I’m allowed to mention something when you cut your timeline short. If this is about me leaving, I’m coming right back.”

“I decided this before I knew you were leaving,” she says.

“I don’t get it.” I look to the side. “What happened between yesterday and today?”

She doesn’t answer right away. I hear her phone buzz on the comforter and when I glance at it, she flips the screen over.

“Honestly?” she asks.

“Yeah, honestly.”

She scoots back against the headboard of her bed and crosses her legs, but then pulls them up to her chest. She puts enough space between us to let me know where this is going.

“I’m going to speak what’s on my heart, because that’s what adults do, but for your information, this is hard on me and not something I would normally do.”

“Okay . . .” Why do I have so many nerves bubbling up inside of me?

She clears her throat and lifts her chin. “Since I arrived here, I feel as though I’ve been thrown through a gauntlet of emotions. I’ve been so grateful that I stumbled into your house. I’m grateful for the friendships I developed here and the experiences we’ve shared. I’m worried about my future, what the hell I’m going to do and how I’m going to recover from the devastation of losing my mom. With your injury, I’ve been reminded of the fears I lived with on a daily basis with my mom’s brain tumor, which brings me to my last part—I’m terrified.”

“Because of my migraine?” I ask, confused.

“Partially, but more importantly”—her eyes divert away from mine—“I’m terrified because in a short amount of time, I’ve grown to care about someone I probably shouldn’t care that much about.”

She cares about me? I go to reply, but she raises her hand to stop me.

“I like you, Pacey. I like you a lot, and that terrifies me because I’ve never felt this strongly toward someone. And certainly not this quickly. Watching you go through the pain of a migraine was scary. Seeing you get hit in the head with the puck made me physically feel ill. And it’s all because I really, really like you. I don’t know how to handle those feelings, how to process them.”

My mouth goes dry as I say, “I can understand that.”

“So, even though it pains me, I think it would be best if I went home and sorted things out, you know?”

“No, I think you’re running away instead of facing your feelings head-on.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “You have no right to say that.”

“I have every right to say that,” I reply in a harsh tone, harsher than I expected. “Look, Winnie, I understand you must be scared, because I’m scared, too. I feel the same way about you. This strong connection, this bond we have—it’s special and I don’t want to lose it.”

“It’s too quick.” She shakes her head.

“Maybe it’s supposed to be quick. Ever think about that? Remember what I said? There’s no timeline when it comes to relationships. Everyone is different.”

She sighs and looks off to the side. “Pacey, I’m so grateful—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” I say before she can start with whatever bullshit goodbye she’s ready to give me. Because that’s not happening. Not when I just found this girl. “This isn’t the end, Winnie.”

“What?” she asks, her face registering complete shock. “Pacey, we’re going our separate ways.”

“You live in Seattle, Winnie. That’s two and a half hours from Vancouver. Do you really think that’s too much of a distance to consider dating?”

“Dating?” Her eyes nearly jump out of her sockets. In disbelief, she shakes her head. “You want to date me?”

“Yeah.” I take her hand in mine. “I want to fucking date you. I want to take you out, rest my hand on the small of your back while everyone wonders who the hell the gorgeous girl is walking next to me. I want to spoil you, take care of you, give you what you deserve—a man who you can count on, even when things seem tough.”

“I’m not . . . I’m not good enough for you.”

I grip her chin and force her to look at me. “You’re more than enough for me. Understand that?” When she doesn’t say anything, I lean in closer, my eyes connecting with hers. “You’re more than enough, Winnie.” Her lip trembles, and she closes her eyes as a lone tear falls down her cheek. I wipe it away and say, “I will fucking wait. I’ll wait as long as I need to in order for you to come to terms with that.”

“Terms with what?” she asks.

“With the fact that you’re right where you’re supposed to be—in this cabin, holding my hand.”

More tears.

“And you can take all the time you want to come to that realization, as long as you still talk to me. I’ll be waiting.”

“You’re going to wait for me?” She shakes her head. “I don’t get why.”

“Simple, Winnie.” I bring her knuckles to my lips and press a soft kiss to them. “You’re worth the wait.”

Her cheeks blush cutely as she stares at our joined hands. “No one has ever talked to me like that before, the way you talk to me.”

“Good. I’d be pissed if someone else did.”

She lets out a deep sigh. “Thank you for everything, Pacey.”

I force her to meet my eyes. “That sounds like a goodbye.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s not. Just letting you know how much I appreciate you.”

“So, what does that mean for tomorrow?” I ask.

“I still need to leave. I have some things to take care of and you need to see the doctor.”

“Then meet me in Vancouver, spend the summer with me. Date me.” I’m grasping for anything at this point, because I’m not ready to say goodbye.

She stands from the bed and leads me to her door. Hand on my chest, she looks up at me and says, “I like you a lot, Pacey. Even though I have this feeling like I need to let you go, I know my heart won’t allow it.”

Confused, I ask, “Why would you need to let me go?”

She shakes her head, not getting into it. “If you want to try to date me, then we’ll have to take it slow.”

She’s opening a window and I will fucking take it. But I hate not knowing what’s holding her back.

“I told you, Winnie, I’ll wait. Okay?”

She nods. “Okay.”

Her hands smooth up my chest and to the back of my neck as she lifts her head and kisses the underside of my jaw. She attempts to pull away, but now that she opened that box, I keep her close and lift her chin, my mouth descending on hers. The moment our lips touch, her body melts against mine and her grip tightens.

Clinging to her, my hand travels up the back of her neck and I hold her tight, only allowing her to angle her mouth better, not pull away.

She tastes good.

Really fucking good.

Soft lips, gentle swipes of her tongue. Nothing too aggressive, but also not tentative. She knows what she wants, and that’s me.

Parting her lips, she raises herself onto her toes and swipes her tongue against mine. I match the touch, and then our tongues tangle in a sensual exploration. Fire ignites in my very soul as her fingers thread through my hair. My other hand falls to the small of her back, and I pull her in just an inch more. She moans against my mouth and then releases me, her head falling back.

When my eyes connect with hers, I find disbelief.

She reaches up and presses her fingers gently to her lips, seeming shocked.

“Wow.” She pats my chest. “I should, uh, I should just take a step back here.”

“You’re telling me you’re going to let that go? That electricity—you felt it, didn’t you?”

She nods and moves backward another step. “Yeah, I felt it. I felt it all the way down to my toes, which is why I’m going to put some distance between that heat developing between us.” God, she’s so fucking cute. “And then I’m just going to stick these”—she waves her hands at me—“in my pockets so they don’t do any exploring. And with a gentle but courteous nod, I shall say, good night, dear sir.”

I chuckle. “My body wouldn’t mind those hands doing some exploring.”

“Good to know.” She nods. “Very good to know.” She takes another step back. “Well, glad we covered that. So, yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll just sit back on my bed and offer you a safe flight for tomorrow.”

I wish she’d offer a hell of a lot more.

“Thank you.” I reach for her doorknob and open her door. I want to tell her that I’ve never met anyone like her before, that she’s worth the wait because I’m not sure I’ll ever want anyone else. But she’s not ready to hear that. Partway out the door, I ask, “Are you sure you’re okay going alone to see your uncle tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Keeping my hands to myself tonight, now that will be the true test of strength and courage.”

If she gave me the okay, I would be all over her right now, but even though I can sense her need for me, I can see in her eyes that maybe she’s just not completely ready.

Doesn’t mean I can’t tease her, though.

“Well, you know where my room is if you change your mind.” With a wink, I head out of her room and straight to mine. I don’t even bother to stop by my bed, but go straight to the shower.