Page 125 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

He’s not making this easier at all. “I’m scared to ask.”

“I guess we should talk, huh?” he says.

“Now?”

He gives my hand a squeeze. “I think things have changed enough since we started all this that it’s time to re-assess.”

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. This doesn’t sound good. It sounds more like this weekend is going to be over before it’s even begun.

35

GIBSON

I’m not reassured that Christian wants me here, but since I made the trip, and we’re off to a rocky start for reasons I haven’t figured out, I want to be open with him about where I’m at and let him decide how he wants to deal with our situation. I’m clear on what I want—I want to stay, to keep seeing him, to go even deeper with him. But I’m well aware he didn’t sign up for that.

However, wearedifferent. Closer. Bordering on inseparable. Still, I don’t want to suffocate him. “At the risk of saying something that might make you want to call this quits, I’m developing feelings for you.”

“That doesn’t make me want to call it off,” he says quickly. “At all.”

“It seemed like it might, given what you’ve said about not wanting anything serious.”

“Your feelings are serious?”

I want to look at him, but I’m too nervous to see his face. “They’re developing. And to be honest, sometimes they feel serious and sometimes they feel stupid.”

“How do they feel right now?”

“Good, honestly,” I tell him. “I feel good about you.”

“Seriously?” Christian almost laughs.

The sound pulls a smile from me. “Yeah. I like you like this. When your walls are down.”

“Do I have walls?”

“Of steel,” I say.

“I wish,” he replies. “And you’re a fucking battering ram anyway, so they don’t help much around you.”

“Admittedly, I can be persistent. But you are, too.”

In my peripheral vision, I notice he’s facing me. If I turned my head, I’d be looking into his eyes.

“I was just thinking this feels sort of real here,” he says. “Likecouplereal.”

“I’m perfectly fine with plus one status,” I say. “But when it comes to you, I…” The sudden softness in my knees feels like I’m staring down from an extreme height and contemplating falling. Not jumping, necessarily, but slipping. “I’m not always rational. I know I’ve crossed countless lines.”

“I waved you over,” he says.

“And I came running.”

“I’m not complaining, Gibson.”

“You’re not thinking of seeing other people are you?” I ask.

When it takes him longer than two seconds to respond, I finally look at him, registering the confusion on his face.

“Where did that come from?” he asks.

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