Page 45 of Some Like It Fox

I won’t be here long enough to plan anything major or long-term.

Flustered, I lift my hands. “I don’t know. I’m leaving soon.”

I’m happy with my life the way it is. I’m free. I’m not beholden to anyone or anything.

A little voice squeaks in the back of my mind:Is that true, or am I actually beholden to my need to always run?

I shove the voice away. “It’s not possible.”

The words are like a wet blanket dropped on top of a cozy fire.

His face falls. “Right. I get it.” He turns away, plucking the keys from the ignition.

I open my palm and he drops them, the distance between us lengthening even though we haven’t exited the car.

Right.

I push open the door and get out but my feet stick to the ground. I can’t go into the house yet, not without knowing.

“Have a good night.” Atticus steps around me, heading for his truck.

“Is Eve the reason why you didn’t call?” The words escape, leaping out of my mouth before I can hold them back.

Atticus halts and then turns around to face me, stepping closer until we’re only a foot apart. The porch light illuminates half of his face, his eyes dark and unreadable. “No. Eve and I are friends.”

I wrap my arms around myself, bracing for an answer to the question I can’t hold back any longer. “Then why didn’t you call?”

His gaze dips to the ground between us before lifting again to meet my eyes. “You said it yourself, you’re leaving.”

I blink. “Isn’t that exactly what makes a fling ideal?”

He rubs the back of his head. “It’s just that, I don’t know if I’m exactly the flinging type.” He shoves his hands into his pockets.

Shame crashes through me.Oh shit.Here I am, throwing myself at him constantly. He probably thinks I’m a total tramp. No wonder he didn’t call. “Oh. I... I’m sorry.”

He takes quick steps toward me, his head shaking. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s not anything you did.” He winces. “It sounds so lame, ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ but the truth is,” he swallows, “if we started something, I’m afraid I would want more than a fling. But I don’t blame you or judge you for wanting a fling.”

My mouth pops open in surprise. “Oh.”

“It isn’t fair to put you in that position. You aren’t responsible for my emotions. So when I say it’s not you, I mean it. You’ve been nothing but honest with me.”

I stare at him. It shouldn’t be so attractive, this blunt admission that if we continue a physical relationship, his feelings might get involved.

Any other guy telling me this kind of line, I’d bolt for the hills.

With Atticus, though, it’s different. He’s not like other guys I’ve been involved with. They all knew the score and were one hundred percent down for a temporary arrangement.

Atticus is smart, kind, caring, and brutally honest, even if it renders him vulnerable. He’s the gawky teen who saw a broken girl and drove her home, no questions asked when we were seventeen. He’s the rugged man who gave me shelter in a storm and more pleasure than my last four lovers combined.

Shit.

Maybe he’s right. A fling would be a bad idea.

The ever-present hum of tension urging me to flee is suddenly pushing me to do something else entirely. Something that involves hauling Atticus somewhere private and then spending excessive amounts of time exploring this spark.

The depth of the desire crackling between us stretches, immense and terrifying.

I duck my head, staring at the ground. “Thank you, for being honest. I’m sorry.”

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