Page 26 of The Clinch
“You’re in so much trouble,” she says quietly once we’re back in the guest room with the door closed.
“I know.”
“Six weeks of that?” She gestures toward the door, toward Leo on the other side. “You’re not going to make it.”
“I’ll make it,” I say, more confident than I feel.
She gives me a look. “Right.”
“I can do this,” I say defensively. “It’s just acting.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Just acting.”
I sink onto the bed. “I’m completely screwed,” I whisper.
Because if I leave, he pays.
If I stay, history could repeat itself.
Eden sits beside me, shoulder to shoulder.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “You really are.”
7
TRIGGER (LEO)
Ihit the corner of the hallway—and stop.
Jesus.
Liz is braced against the wall, one leg raised high behind her in a stretch that turns my brain to static. The compression shorts could be classified as wishful thinking rather than clothing, bright colors hugging her hips. The black sports bra leaves her stomach bare, navel ring catching the early light. Her hair falls in a heavy curtain down her back, dark and wild. Ink I hadn’t seen under her dress the other night curves up her thigh and disappears under the fabric, flashing every time she moves.
Blood rushes south so fast I have to adjust my stance.
She moves through her warm-up with the kind of precision you don’t get from yoga apps. Weight transfers smoothly. Posture razor-sharp. Balance perfect.
Two days.
That’s how long she’s been in my space.
Two days since I dropped her ex in the middle of Schimanski.
Two days since she moved into my guest room while Jessica spins our fake relationship into something believable.
Two days of unfinished tension sleeping twenty feet away.
I tried burning it off in the shower this morning.
Didn’t work.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The words come out rough.
She throws me a look. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
“Liz.”
“Leo.” She mirrors my tone, then lifts her knee toward her chest in a stretch that’s going to kill me before camp does.
