Page 109 of Camp Bliss
And we need to talk.
I just don’t know what to say.
Or whathe’llsay.
I hear the tap at the sink run. He’s in the kitchen.
I stand up from the edge of my bed and step into the bathroom. I check myself in the mirror. My reflection looks way more put together than I feel.
Maybe I’m stalling, but I brush my teeth and wash my hands. At the very least, I feel cleaner. Calmer. Which is no small feat since I can practically feel Zach’s every move through the fifth wheel.
Is he pacing?
I press my cool hands to my throat and meet my reflection’s gaze. It’s time to go out and face him. The last few hours with Zach and his parents have been a lot of fun, but I’d be lying if I said they weren’t also charged with tension and confusion.
I really have no idea where we stand.
I told myself earlier today that I’d fix this. Do whatever it takes to make sure we’re okay. I nod at myself in the mirror, reminding myself that what I need and what I want aren’t always the same. And I have to take care of my needs first.
When I slide open the door and spot Zach, I know I’m not the only one who’s been giving myself a pep talk.
He stops mid-pace, and turns to face me, one hand gripping the back of his neck, his elbow high, a frown stamped on his brow.
He couldn’t look any more agitated if he tried.
He also couldn’t look any hotter if he tried.
I still can’t get over how well he cleans up. That dress shirt is too much.
Especially now that he’s rolled up the cuffs and the sinews in his forearms and wrists are on display.
He looks so good, it takes me a second to notice that his bed has been folded up, back into a couch. Most of the time, he keeps the pullout open, closing it only when he wants to run the vacuum through the RV.
But his bedding is all tucked away now, the cushions of the couch in place. He drops the hand from his neck and waves it at the sofa.
“Would you sit with me?”
I spare a glance to the two empty recliners. If we’re going to sit and talk, wouldn’t those be better seating options? Facing each other but not touching?
Internally, I shrug. Whatever. I move to the couch and perch on one end.
Like a panther in captivity, Zach paces the tiny space one more time and then takes the end opposite me. Tension rolls off his muscles in waves.
Shit. This is going to be bad. I’m bracing myself for him to tell me not to touch him ever again when he locks eyes with mine.
“I have to ask something.” His voice comes out rough.
I swallow. “Okay.”
He holds my gaze, and he looks at me the same way he did at the lodge before we had drinks.
Like he’s sad.
Oh God. Have I ruined everything?
“Did you mean it?” The question is raw.
I blink. “D-Did I mean what?”
