Page 57 of All of You

“I—” she started, but stopped. She took a deep breath and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I’d like to talk about that.”

“About…” I wasn’t about to put words in her mouth.

“About what you signed up for. And what we’re doing here. I feel like things are different now.” Her eyes were riveted on my face, watching for any reaction.

Unfortunately for her, I had an incredible neutral face. It wasn’t all that neutral—really, it was the opposite of severe. Just a resting smiling face. My mouth naturally turned up, the smile lines just getting started at the corners of my eyes, my general demeanor all saying I’m here for the party. It was something I’d perfected over the years.

I’d always been pretty much that guy. The good times guy up for a game, a prank, a drink, a kiss, a drive, whatever. And when I wasn’t, I didn’t allow myself to show it. People always commented on how laid back I was, how up for anything I was, and I wanted it to stay that way.

But Afghanistan and Dillon’s death had cut that out of me. I wasn’t the up-for-anything guy all the time anymore—guess I was doing a decent enough job showing that to people like Whit since she’d commented on how amazing I was at being real. I wasn’t sure that was my goal, but I was tired of pretending everything was dandy.

With all that, though, I did still have one hell of a neutral face. It gave me time to process, to weigh things, and to let myself decide whether I was going to ride the laid-back train, or whether things would need more of my attention and emotion.

“Okay. Tell me your thoughts,” I said. A little cheap, yes, but she was the person in the position of power, both because of who she was and how I felt about her.

I wasn’t about to flay myself wide open for her if she just wanted someone to mess around with. I may or may not have held my breath for what would come next.

She squinted at me, then a wry smile curled her lips. “I think you like me. I like you. I think we’re kissing in a hotel room with no cameras because we like each other.”

The breath came out on a chuckle. “Your observations are sound.”

“And I think it would be easy for us to just date-date instead of fake-date.”

Impressive. She was so direct. I’d expected more tiptoeing.

“Just like that, huh?” I asked, trying to be casual when all I wanted was to pull her close and spend the rest of the night like that.

“Pretty much. We’re adults. I think it’s kind of lucky that we like each other.” She clasped her hands together and rested them in her lap.

I liked the idea, no denying that, but what if…

“What happens when you get sick of me? Being friends is easier to maintain, and easier to break off when the arrangement isn’t doing what it’s intended for. If we date and something goes wrong before it’s good for you, what do we do then?”

And maybe a large part of me was wondering what happened when she realized how little I had to offer her. I worried for how awkward she’d feel when she realized she didn’t admire or respect me the way she thought she did once I was out of the Army and had no idea what came next.

“Good question. I guess we hope it doesn’t go wrong?”

Her small smile warmed something cold in me, setting to thaw what had been frozen in doubt.

I reached for her then, pulled her gently to me, and kissed her lips. “I’m not about to turn you down. But I don’t think we should start by going for broke. Let’s go easy. It feels like if we go all out, it might blow up sooner.”

Her brow wrinkled, and she pursed her lips, clearly not agreeing with me. “If that’s what you want, that’s okay with me.”

“Okay, good. Since it’s too early to go to bed, what do you want to do?”

“Any chance you’d want to take a walk and see the tree?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Whit

This man was out to test my patience in a way no one ever had.

He didn’t walk like a New Yorker. And even though I’d only lived here a year, I still had it in me. Wandering around New York City that night, the streets flooded with people visiting Rockefeller Center and gazing at the Christmas tree, all of it—he moved slow in every possible way, like he was forcing me to stop and take notice of my surroundings instead of plowing ahead toward a goal.

How utterly maddening.

But worse, definitely, was his insistence to move slow with us. I could sense he had reasons for that, though his stated reason that moving our relationship at a slower pace would avoid a faster burnout—that made sense, I had to admit.

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