Page 41 of Keep Me Close

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Almost reluctantly, I release her, forcing myself to take a step back. “People are idiots.”

She stares at me for a second, emotion flashing in her eyes as her tone turns teasing. “I guess you really meant it, huh?”

I frown. “Meant what?”

“That you’re not taking any chances with my well-being.”

This woman has no idea that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

Instead of telling her the truth, I force a shrug and try to keep it casual. “You’re staying with me. It’s kind of hard not to feel responsible.”

As soon as the comment is out of my mouth, I realize it’s complete bullshit.

Cheyenne’s lips curve into a smile. It’s not a full-blown one by any means, but something softer. I get the feeling she sees straight through me and is choosing not to call me out on it.

By silent agreement, we start moving again.

I’m more aware of her beside me now than ever. Of the cadence of her breathing and the sound of her shoes hitting the sidewalk. Every time she glances at me, my gut tightens.

After another mile, she says, “For the record, I’m glad you came with. This is nice.”

I glance at her, surprised by the admittance. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A beat passes before she adds, “But don’t let it go to your head, McNichols.”

I snort. “Impossible. My ego’s enormous, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

She smiles again, and, damn, I like it.

Way more than I should.

After that, we pick up the pace. It doesn’t take long before I’m sweating, mildly annoyed by the existence of long-distance running, and fighting the urge to stare at her every five seconds.

Cheyenne, meanwhile, looks reinvigorated. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, there’s a damp sheen at her temples, and a few wisps of hair have loosened from her ponytail to curl around her face.

She looks beautiful. Not in the polished, camera-ready way most people probably notice first. But in a real way. I force my attention back to the street. This is exactly why spending time alone with her is a terrible idea.

Under normal circumstances, I’d hate every second of this. I hate running, mornings, and being dragged into anything before coffee has a chance to do its job.

But with Chey?

I don’t hate any of it.

Which is bad enough.

What’s worse is that somewhere between her laughing, falling into step beside me, and admitting she was glad I came, this stopped feeling like an obligation and started to feel like something else entirely.

The realization that I wouldn’t mind getting up and doing this again tomorrow is the moment I know I’m well and truly fucked.

15

Cheyenne

Lake Michigan stretches out in front of us, its surface rippling beneath the pale wash of early morning light. Behind us, the city rises in steel and glass, gleaming against a blue sky. Even though the wind coming off the water lashes at my cheeks, I barely notice it.