Page 69 of Knockin' Boats
Ash reached for me, grasping my arm to keep me there. “Wait, Sawyer.”
I tensed up. He tilted his head. “We can’t keep doing this.”
Surprise jolted through me. Despite how conflicted I was, disappointment hit hard and fast. “You didn’t like it?”
“Of course I liked it.” He tugged me into a kiss. It was soft and sweet and…weirdly soothing. “I mean, we can’t keep pretending it’s not happening. It’s happening. I want it to keep happening. But…”
He looked nervous.
“But what?” I asked, wary.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to say. It would be simpler if Ash put an end to it. But as conflicted as I was about my emotions, I knew after today that I couldn’t resist the fire he lit in me.
The kiss with Cash didn’t compare, but the truth was, the kisses with my last few girlfriends didn’t either. Whether it was fighting or fucking, Ash got under my skin like no other.
“We need to talk about all our shit from the past. Once and for all.”
Oh, fuck me. That was even worse than him saying no.
“I don’t want to talk. I just want to fuck around.”
“I know,” he said, holding my gaze. “But it’s talking or we both walk away from this. I can’t keep doing this if I think you still hate me.”
His voice broke on the word hate, and suddenly I felt like a shithead.
I kissed Ash. Used his body for my pleasure. And if I did that while hating him, it hurt him. And I didn’t want to hurt him. Regardless of what happened with Mel, I couldn’t stand the thought of that.
I was still angry. Still hurt by his betrayal. But somewhere along the way, the hate in me had been snuffed out.
Or perhaps just consumed by something larger and more intense.
Because IwantedAsh even more than I’d hated him.
And that was the truth my friends had wanted me to confront.
CHAPTER 16
Ash
Sawyer kneeled over me, face tense and eyes distant. I didn’t know what was going on inside his head.
My heart thundered. I’d just told him I couldn’t keep doing this if he still hated me, but what if I’d pushed him too much? It would hurt like hell if he walked away now. Despite the angry make-outs, I’d gotten my best friend back this past week.
The dry humor. The sarcasm. The adorable grin he wore when he talked waterskiing or wakeboarding with some of the boaters who came through. He still loved playing on the lake, and I loved the idea that some of my fondest memories of him remained true.
Sawyer whooping with sheer joy the first time he’d rode the wake behind his dad’s boat.
Sawyer crashing hard, and me diving in to check on him, only for him to surface with unhinged laughter at the exhilaration of it.
That was a Sawyer I hadn’t seen in a long time.
This Sawyer, the one who kissed me, the one who blew his load with me, was not that same joyful kid. But there was a spark in him, a vibrant flare of life, that reminded me of the guy I’dknown for all those years before cold, painful distance separated us.
“I don’t hate you,” he said finally.
My whole body unclenched, as if it had been awaiting a verdict. I blew out a shaky breath. “You have every right.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Do I?”
