Page 56 of Swept for Forever
But the truth was uglier than that.
I was the one who wasn’t ready.
I lay flat on the bed, one arm flung over my eyes. Yet all I could see was her standing in the lamplight in that ridiculousIBuffaloberry HillT-shirt.
Jesus.
I tossed my arm away and sat up.
She’d made the move. That kiss…it hadn’t come from confusion. It came from her. And I’d shut it down like a coward.
I pushed up off the bed and started pacing. I crossed to the little table and opened the mini-fridge even though I knew damn well it was empty. Then I slapped it shut. I couldn’t say why. I just needed to do something.
“God, Autumn. What are you doing to me?”
Hell, I wasn’t spinning in some juvenile crush. I wasn’t spiraling. I was level and clear-eyed. And still, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
She was too young, too brave.
And yet, she’d torn through every line I’d drawn. She took my carefully written rulebook and shredded it, page by page, until I couldn’t use it to protect myself anymore.
She wanted a kiss, not a rescue. And I’d let my fear get in the way.
The strange part? I liked that fear.
It wasn’t panic. It was power. A jolt straight to the chest. It made me feel like I was chasing something again. Not to win, not to fix, but to try. To believe in the shot, even if I missed.
What if this wasn’t just some proximity-driven adrenaline thing? What if it was something real?
I stepped outside, the motel door clicking shut behind me as a moth dive-bombed a flickering light above the vending machine. I leaned against the stair rail with my arms crossed, doing my best not to look like I was loitering.
It didn’t work.
The screen door above creaked open, and a familiar voice floated down. “Well, well. If it isn’t my most suspicious guest.”
I glanced up. Ms. O’Donnell stood on the second-floor landing, clutching a mug and wearing a robe patterned with cartoon cactuses. Her hair was rolled, her stance all opinion with a hint of a smirk.
“You waiting for your dealer, Mr. Powell? Or just practicing your brooding?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Just needed air.”
“Uh-huh.” She took a sip. “Air, and maybe a glimpse of the girl you parked in Room 107.”
I didn’t answer.
“She’s a mystery, that one,” Ms. O’Donnell said. “Didn’t seeher face the first time, just her mop of hair and a dog halfway through assaulting my begonias. But the way you protected that mutt? It tells me she’s something special.”
I chuckled.
“You know,” she continued, “my Roger and I never shared a room until the month before he died.”
I looked up again. Her gaze was somewhere distant now.
“He said we had time. That we’d get married once the business took off. But then…gone. Stroke at forty-two.”
My hand went to my chest before I even realized it. You never really knew how much time you had, only that it was always less than you thought.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. O’Donnell.”
