Page 67 of Knotting With A Stranger

I push against his chest, creating just enough space to breathe. “You’re insane, you know that? We texted for a few weeks. That doesn’t make me yours.”

“Doesn’t it?” He doesn’t move back, staying in my personal space. “Tell me you haven’t thought about me every day since we started talking. Tell me you weren’t disappointed when you realized I wasn’t some random wrong number.”

“I was pissed,” I correct him. “Because you lied to me about who you were.”

“I never lied about who I am,” he insists, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. “Just... didn’t reveal certain details.”

“Like prison? That seems like a pretty big detail to omit while we were playing theQuestionsgame.”

His jaw tightens. “What was I supposed to say?By the way, Lily, I’m texting you from a prison cell, hope that’s cool?”

“You could have told me and that you were about to get out!”

“I was going to tell you,” he says, eyes locked on mine in the dim light. “In person. I was planning how to meet you, how to explain everything. And then suddenly you’re here, in the cabin, looking at me like I’m a stranger.” He sighs, dropping his forehead to rest against mine in a gesture so intimate, it stealsmy breath. “I fucked up. Is that what you want to hear? I was a coward.”

“Better,” I murmur, aware of his proximity, the heat of him bleeding into me, making my already overheated skin burn hotter.

“You’re still punishing me,” he accuses softly. “With Hunter. I saw the way you kissed him, Lily. That wasn’t just a dare.”

I should deny it, but I can’t quite bring myself to lie. “Maybe I wanted to see if what we had was real or just some digital fantasy.”

“And?” His breath fans across my lips. “What’s the verdict?”

“The jury’s still out,” I say, trying and failing to sound unaffected. “Hunter’s quite the kisser. I like him and Archer.”

A low growl rumbles from his chest, and his hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing roughly across my lower lip. “You want to drive me crazy, don’t you? Is this payback?”

“Not everything is about you, James,” I say, but I don’t pull away from his touch.

“This is,” he says with absolute certainty. “This—us—it’s been building since that first wrong number.”

“There is nous,” I protest weakly. “There’s just a bunch of text messages and a lot of lies.”

“Tell me you didn’t feel something when we were talking every night,” he challenges. “Tell me you didn’t wait for my messages, think about what I might be doing, wonder what I looked like.”

I swallow hard, remembering the nights I’d fallen asleep with my phone in my hand, screen glowing with his words. The way I’d smile like an idiot at his jokes. The way my heart had raced when conversations turned deeper, more intimate.

“That doesn’t change anything,” I insist. “You still lied.”

“Then let me make it up to you,” he says. “Let me show you who I really am. I’ll tell you everything about how I got set up and sent to prison wrongly.”

“So, enlighten me,” I challenge. “Who is the real James?”

“The same man you’ve been talking to for weeks,” he grunts. “The one who knows you love true crime documentaries but have to sleep with the lights on afterward. The one who listened to you talk about your mother’s lemon pound cake recipe that you can’t quite get right. The one who told you things I’ve never told another soul.”

My chest tightens at the reminder of those conversations, the intimacy we’d built message by message. I’d told him about nightmares that still plague me. He’d shared stories of his family, of feeling like an outsider his whole life, of dreams to start his own bakery shop one day and follow his passion. Things he’d never admitted to anyone.

“I didn’t make that up, Lily,” he continues. “That was real. All of it.” His eyes search mine, as if gauging whether I can handle it. “I was stupid, trusting, and naive. I believed my friend, Rick, needed me to pick him up one night, but I unknowingly became his getaway driver. Then he pissed off, the bastard, leaving me to face the cops. But I got him back as I reported him to the cops for having drugs at his place, and he’s serving time across the country in another prison.”

“That’s something, I guess.” I study his face in the dim light, trying to reconcile the man I thought I knew with this new information.

His hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. “How much longer, Lily? How much more do I have to pay?”

The heat of his touch sends sparks down my spine, and I have to fight to maintain clarity. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Yes, you do.” His eyes drop to my lips. “The same thing you want from me.”

I should push him away. Tell him to go to hell. Storm back upstairs and forget this conversation ever happened. Instead, I find myself swaying closer.

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