Page 82 of Light My Fire

But I am.

I need time to decide what that means, if anything, given my inexperience with men.

Waving to Jackson, I roll my bag toward Luke, who is waiting patiently by the front door. “Where’s Wyatt?” I ask.

“He’s in the car already.”

“Oh, okay.” Wyatt is who I really want to talk to. He was so angry when he saw me and Luke and I want to clear the air, though I’m not sure exactly what to say.

Luke touches my arm lightly. “Hey,” he murmurs, leaning in close to me so he can’t be overheard by Jackson. “I just want you to know that I had a vasectomy, and I haven’t been with anyone else since I was last tested. In case you were worried. I never would have come inside you without a condom otherwise.”

The way he talks so openly about coming inside me has my cheeks heating. Which makes me annoyed with myself. These things need to be talked about. It tells me what I need to know about Luke.

He’s a good man.

“Thank you for telling me. I am on the pill for my irregular periods but I should have…”

I stop, confused.

What should I have done?

I don’t even know right now.

Luke smiles and rubs his thumb across my cheek. “You’re a hard woman to forget.”

His touch makes me shiver. “But you’re going to forget me?”

“I’m going to try, for all our sakes.”

My chest feels tight, but I nod.

He’s right.

It’s the smart, sensible thing to do.

Appreciate this weekend, tuck it away as a great memory, but move on from it.

This is the best way to end things with all of them, really.

The snowed-in intimacy won’t translate to the real world.

He opens the door and I head out to the car. Wyatt is in the front seat, and he ignores me.

It hurts more than I would like it to.

Which again tells me I need time and space.

But when we arrive at the airport after the five-minute drive, Wyatt does open the back door for me. He gives me a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Wyatt—”

I don’t even know what I intend to say.

But he just offers me his hand to climb out of the SUV. I take it and step out. The wind whips my hair across my face and Wyatt gently tucks it back behind my ear.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “And I don’t want you to feel bad. I really don’t. I’m glad you had a good time.”

More like a life-altering, mind-blowing, confusing-as-hell time, but “good” works too.

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