Page 93 of The Space Between
I grunt and he smirks. “You look like you actually got some sleep.”
I pause. “I did… a little.”
“You and Blakelyn… you seen to be getting on very well?” I shoot him a look, and he holds up his hands. “Hey, man, you know I’m not judging. I approve. I wanted you to notice her, remember? Just saying… the whole town’s been waiting for you to notice she’s more than a summer fling.”
I don’t do flings. Summer or otherwise.
And I should have known the whole fucking town was aware of what was happening.
“She’s not a fling.” I mutter.
His eyes flicker and then he nods. “Good.” He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t need to.
We both know how this place works.
People see things.
They talk. They’ve always talked.
I don’t care what they say about me.
But Blakelyn doesn’t deserve to be picked apart by town gossip… not when she’s already been ripped open by someone else.
I endup outside her cabin after dark.
I don’t even remember making the decision to go over.
She opens the door before I even knock… like she was waiting… like sheknew.
She doesn’t speak, just opens the screen and stands there in a pair of cotton sleep shorts and a tank top that barely covers herand fuck meif that’s not all it takes to snap my restraint.
I cross the threshold in three strides, slide my hand up her neck, and kiss her like I’ve wanted to since I left her last night.
She melts into me, and then, she whispers, “I want more.”
I freeze but she only looks up at me. She doesn’t back down. Her amber eyes meet mine and she says, “I’m telling you what I want. I know I said I wasn’t asking you for anything, but I am now. This is something. Something real and I want all of it, Gruene. I want all of you. I don’t want to pretend this is casual. I don’t want to keep tiptoeing around whatever this is.”
My throat goes dry and all I can say is, “I don’t know how to give you what you deserve, Blakelyn.”
“Then, just give meyou, Gruene.Flawed. Guarded. Grieving. Just…you.Thatis what I want.”
I stare at her and I realize…
She’s not asking me to be whole.
She’s just asking me to stop hiding the pieces.
I don’t answer her right away.
I just stare at her.
My heart is thudding. My fingers are twitching. Every instinct I’ve sharpened into a blade over the last six years is screaming at me to shut it down, push her away, shut the door and keep breathing like I have since I lost everything but she’s not backing up.
She’s not crying or yelling or demanding anything.
She’s just waiting.
Quiet.
