Page 142 of The Fine Line
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” she snaps.
I stare down at her, and something in me just… stops.
“No,” I say quietly. “Not like this.”
Her expression twists.
“Are you being serious?”
I nod once.
She stares at me for a long beat before suddenly letting out a bitter laugh.
“I knew it.”
She pushes me off of her and storms back inside, grabbing her dress on the way.
“You knew what?” I call, already following her.
“That this was all a game to you.”
My chest tightens. “What?”
“No, I get it. Really. I mean, I expected it. But wow, did you commit?—”
“What are you talking about?” I demand, heat rising under my skin.
She spins around. “Pine after me for years. Harass me every day. Pull me into the chaos of your orbit. Then get close. Grind me down. Make me feel something I didn’t want to feel. And just when I give in, just when I let go, you pull the plug. That was the play, right?”
“No. That’s not?—”
“I always knew you were trouble, Rhett,” she snaps. “But no. You’re diabolical.”
“I don’t want to just fuck you, okay?” I blurt.
She freezes. Slowly turns around.
“I fuck people I don’t care about. People I don’t plan on seeing again.” I step toward her, heart thudding like it’s trying to break through my ribs. “You’re not that. You’ve never been that.”
She looks at me, unreadable. Runs a hand through her hair, trying to settle the tremble I can see building under her skin.
“Look,” she sighs. “I get it. This is complicated. I’m not one of your usual one-night stands. I’m sure you’re thinking about our arrangement. About my dad?—”
“I promise you, the last thing on my mind right now is your dad.”
“My point is… even if I’d never admit it outside of these four walls…” She hesitates. “Kelly wasn’t wrong at the gala. There has been something building here. For years. And now, with this whole situation—us living together—it was bound to… combust.”
I stare at her. “I’m… sorry?”
“It’s my fault,” she says, brushing past me. “I started it. On the plane. So why don’t we just do it? Bite the bullet. Get it out of our systems.”
“Bite the bullet?” I echo.
She nods. “Then we move on. You’ll have another blonde hanging off you by tomorrow night. I’ll finally be able to think straight. And this”—she gestures between us—“this can be over. We’ll forget it ever happened.”
I cross my arms, studying her. “What if I don’t want to forget it?”
She blinks. “What?”
