Page 65 of This

She smiles as the photographerzooms in.

Click.

The bouquet of dark purple flowers, roses and lilies that she threw at my head not even an hour ago, rests by her hand as she signs the marriage license.

Click, click.

Liam and Keaton’s ceremony was flawless. The year of groans from his office and him rushing into mine to ask which color swatch he liked better is officially at an end. If only it were the only thing over.

Once finished, Bennett hands me the pen. Our skin meets, followed by our eyes, and then she looks away. She always looks away first. I fell in love with how her eyes divert mid-blink and the blush that creeps up her neck after. I was all the way down before I even realized how hard I could fall.

Click.

I lean over, signing my name and ignoring the brush of my arm over hers. Last night, I was inside her, making her eyes roll back in her head while she came on me in the lake. And now…

One moreclick, and I drop the pen.

“We done?” I ask.

The photographer frowns at my tone but nods.

“Great,” I say. Then, under my breath, I mutter, “Now get me the fuck away from her.”

Not Even an Hour Ago...

“You don’t want any ofit?”

I stare at her, Bennett Ross, the frustrating woman who crashed into my chest, then burrowed the rest of the way in. She set a record pace, more of her in my head than myself at times, and now, she claims she doesn’t wantany of it.

“Why can’t things stay the way they are?” she asks. She reaches for the rose stem again, screwing with a lonely thorn. “You come to visit often enough. We could—”

“I don’t want to be a visitor in your life, Bennett.”

I want to be it.

A drip from the faucet beside her is the only thing cutting through the intrusive feeling of everything she’s refusing to say. I wait, willing her to let me in. Sometimes, it works. She’ll glance up, and I’ll see the thoughts winding through her, and then she’ll open the gates to everything behind the doubt and cautiousness surrounding her. But right now, she keeps her eyes down, not chancing a connection between us.

“I don’t want to do plane tickets and six-hour drives forever,” I tell her. “I need to know if this is going somewhere. If there’s more.”

Another few drips pass with us locked in a moment between here and there before she looks up. “I don’t know.”

I blow out an exasperated breath, raking my hands through my hair and tugging at the roots. I’ve always been left as the one to move us forward, dragging her along. And I’m damn tired of forcing her in a direction I’m not even sure she wants half the time.

“Well, maybe it’s time you fucking figure it out.”

Her eyes narrow, the words sharp before they leave her mouth. “Maybe you shouldn’t assume you know what I want.”

“Should I wait for you to tell me instead? Because if that were the case, I’d probably still be getting laid on a regular basis by bar chicks instead of stuck, jerking myself off.”

A ball of flowers launches at my head. I duck, letting them crash against the wall behind me. They hit the floor, and Bennett’s off the counter, on her way to retrieve them. Worry overshadows what I imagine is the urge to slap me.

I scoop down, beating her to the bouquet, and when I stand up, she grabs for it. I keep ahold of the bottom, the fucking thorn jabbing my palm.

“Show me this hasn’t all been leading up to you walking away and not coming back,” I say.

Her brilliant eyes glisten. “I can’t,” she says. “I’m so sorry, Dane.”

Sorry. The way it sounds with a slight crack in her voice cuts deep. I have to resist the urge to close the space between us and hold her, to tell her there’s nothing to apologize for and push away how I feel so I can keep her.

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