Page 47 of Past the Broken Bridges

I lean back. “Sounds familiar.”

We stare at one another before clinking our shellfish together in cheers and digging in.

“Dawson doesn’t always make his mind up easily,” I offer after a stretch of silence while we eat. I wipe my hands off as she pauses what she’s doing to peer at me through her lashes. Swiping a napkin across my lips, I set it down on the table with an easy shrug. “Sometimes you have to help make it for him.”

She sets down her food. “And what decision is it you want me to help him make?”

The question is a challenge.

Not a hard one.

A test.

“Whatever you want,” I answer.

Be with him or let him down gently.

I know which one I’d prefer.

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything at all. Then a thoughtful noise rises from her throat as she digs back into the food. No words. No indication as to what her choice will be.

It’s not mine to make. Or influence.

An hour and a half later, listening to classic country instead of the modern station I usually opt for, I’m pulling into my usual spot behind our apartment building and cutting the engine.

“Are you going to the party tomorrow?” she asks, unbuckling. “The one Dawson brought up. He said it was at one of the frats.”

That doesn’t narrow it down any. “I’m not sure what I’ve got going on.”

Lies. I never have plans on the weekends.

She nods, glancing out the window before turning her body toward me. “Think about it” is all she says, leaning in and pecking me on the cheek. I turn just enough to feel her lips graze the corner of my mouth, causing her to suck in a startled breath.

Sawyer pulls back a fraction, our mouths so close I can feel her small, exhaled breaths. They’re warm. Inviting.

My eyes focus on her lips, a hunger rising from my stomach.

When she leans forward, her mouth brushes over mine in the barest kiss that I’m not even sure happened by the time I can process it. It feels like a middle school move—one you want to make but aren’t sure of. But she did it.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want her to do it again.

“That should answer your question from before,” she tells me, her hand touching mine before she grabs the door handle and climbs out of the truck. “Good night, Banks.”

She shuts the door before I can reply, waving through the window as she disappears into the building.

All while I sit dumbly behind the wheel, still buckled in and still thinking about that kiss.

That should answer your question.

She’s wrong.

Because now I have a hell of a lot more.

From the rearview mirror, I see another figure too tall to be Sawyer disappear into the building.

Chapter Fifteen

Sawyer

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