Page 64 of Whirlwind

“I can,” I say more softly this time, placing her hand over my heart. “This is what I want.”

She pauses for a moment, staring at our hands before she continues. “And what do you want exactly?”

“I want to be with you.”

Finley puffs out a breath and casts her eyes downward. “It’s not that simple. Just yesterday, we agreed to be friends, and now you want to quit your job to be with me?”

“I—I thought—” I pause to collect myself. “I thought you would want this. I thought you would wantus.”

She sighs and pulls away from me, both of us groaning as I slip from inside her. When I attempt to tug her back to me, she holds her hand up and gets out of bed. I watch her naked body walk across the small room to the bathroom and stare at her reflection in the mirror as she takes a washcloth and wets it, cleaning between her legs.

It should be me doing that, but I let her do it before she comes back to me, handing me a different towel to clean up with. I quickly wipe myself off, but my chest tightens when she puts on her T-shirt and underwear before picking my shirt and boxers up off the floor and handing them to me.

“Please,” I say. Her eyes meet mine, and that fleeting sad look I saw on her face after we successfully launched has returned. “Don’t leave.”

She sighs and sits on the bed, easing a tiny bit of the pressure around my heart. “I’m not leaving, but I can’t have a serious conversation when we’re naked.”

I press my lips together and nod. “Fair enough.” I put my shirt and underwear on then shift so I’m closer to her. She’s now propped up against the headboardand pillows.

“Can I at least hold you?” I ask. For a long and torturous moment, I think she’s going to say no, but then she nods. I tug her into me, and more of that weight eases from my chest. It’s odd to think that Finley and I never had a physical relationship before this weekend, because now that I’ve had her, held her, I don’t ever want to stop doing it.

“Ryker, you can’t quit your job. Especially for me.”

I pull away so I can look her in the eye. “The job doesn’t matter. You matter.”

“You love teaching,” she argues.

“I do, but it’s not my whole life. I’ve been thinking about it, and yes, I enjoy it. But I don’t need it. I don’t wake up in the morning because it’s my true calling or passion. It’s something I enjoy, that fills moments in time and gives me a larger purpose. But what if it’s not anymore?”

The implication of my words hangs heavy in the air, and I can feel Finley pulling further away from me. Panic wells in my gut, making me grip her tighter.

“I know I didn’t show you how much you mean to me before, and I was an idiot for how I treated you, how I pushed you away. I’ll regret it forever. But I’d do anything for you, baby. I want to quit.”

She chews on her lower lip. “Do you know how crazy that is? You don’t even know me that well!”

Her words stun me, and my grip on her loosens so she can see me when I say this. “That’s a lie, and you know it.”

She blinks. “We haven’t even been on a date.”

“You think that matters? I know you, Finley.”

“You think you do, but you only know me from class.”

“That’s crap.”

“It’s not!” Her words echo in the small room, and I calmly take a breath before gripping her hands in mine.

“I want you to hear me when I say this.”

“Ryker—”

“Your favorite color is gray, but not just any gray, the gray of the sky during a violent storm. Your favorite snack is apple slices and peanut butter, and you love crispy Diet Coke. Especially if it has crushed ice. You chase storms because your mother loved them, and that’s how you developed your love for photography. Your first chase was at fifteen with your cousin, Jake, who you dragged along with you because he could drive.

“I know you’re kind and generous, giving your time to students who don’t understand something from my lectures. On top of that, you’re incredibly smart, passionate, and a good listener. You wear your emotions, and you say things like they are. You’re a force of nature, Finley, and I’m in awe of you.”

By the time I’ve finished, I know I could say more, but I don’t need to. Finley’s eyes shine with tears, and her cheeks are rosy. Her slightly parted lips glisten as her breaths stutter in a staccato pattern.

“I—” she tries, blinking back her tears. “You know all that?”

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