Page 111 of The Space Between
It does something to me and I’m already dying slow. Leaning in, I stop millimeters from her mouth. She inhales and her pupils dilate. “Yeah, I am,” I mutter. My lips lightly brush over hers. “Be ready in ten minutes.”
Turning on my heel, I take the quickest shower in existence in my own cabin and ignore my raging erection.
We don’t talkabout this morning over tacos. We don’t talk about the river.
Or Molly. Or Aubree. Or the fact that I wanted to kiss her when she thanked me but couldn’t make my mouth cooperate.
But wedotalk. About school. About how one of her students made her a friendship bracelet out of duct tape. About how she used to dream of teaching in places like this, towns where the school counselor also runs the pie shop on Main Street.
She’s funny, sarcastic in this sweet way that sneaks up on you. And when she laughs—really laughs—it cracks something in my ribs wide open… like she’s carving out a place there.
Without asking. Without force. Justbeing.I want to stay right here beside her.
We walk backto the truck slowly, both pretending we don’t know what’s coming.
The air’s thick again—August heat curling around every breath, cicadas droning in the trees like static.
Ishouldwalk her to her door. Ishouldsay goodnight. But I don’t.
She doesn’t either. She looks at me. And I can’tnottouch her.
My fingers dance on her wrist before slowly trailing up to her elbow. My hand flattens against the side of her neck before snaking around the back and cupping it. She leans in like she’s waiting for me to do it, to kiss her, to pull her in.
I want to let go of every fucking wall still stacked in my chest like bricks I laid myself.
And then… Ido. I kiss her.
It’s not rushed. It’s not about sex. It’s not even about grief. It’s abouther.
Her mouth softens and opens under mine. Her breath catches when I angle deeper and her head falls back, grantingme access. She slides her hands up under the back of my shirt to caress the scars on my skin—not just feel the heat.
And fuck, I let her.
I let her feel every part of me.
We don’t make it to the bed.
I press her against the wall inside her front door Her legs wrap around my waist with her skirt bunching up. Her mouth is on mine like we’ve been starving.
Our clothes hit the floor in pieces—my shirt, her bra, her dress and nude lace panties I want to tear in half. My jeans and boxers join the pile.
She stops me, right before I take her. Right before it becomesmore.
Reaching out, she holds my face in both hands and stares into my eyes “I’m not her. I’m not Molly,” she says.
It should cut. It should hurt… but itdoesn’tbecause it’s true. And maybe I need to say it, too. “I know, baby. You’re not Molly. You’re Blakelyn.My Blakelyn.”
She gasps as I sink into her, and we both fall apart.
CHAPTER 19
Blakelyn
I glance at the clock.4:43AM.
I don’t know what woke me, but I know I don’t want to cry when I wake up this time. I don’t panic. I don’t look for my clothes on the floor or wonder if I should sneak out before he does… because he’s stillhere.
Lying on his side, one hand resting low on my bare stomach, his breath warm against my collarbone. His lashes are thick and dark against his cheek, and his mouth moves a little when he exhales like he’s dreaming.
