Page 64 of Keep Me Close

Do I want to leave?

Do I want to distance myself from him?

Do I want this to end?

The answer rises so swiftly it nearly steals the air from my lungs.

No, I don’t want to leave Chicago or put two thousand miles between us. I don’t want to go back to pretending we barely know each other.

I came here for a reason. One Knox knows nothing about. But along the way, I found something I never expected.

Him.

My throat constricts. Before I can stop myself, I take another step closer and lift my hand. I hesitate for a second before brushing my fingers through his hair. My thumb skims his forehead, careful around the bruise, while my fingers linger against his skin.

The touch is intimate. And yet it feels strangely natural. As if some part of me has been drawn to him far longer than I realized. His hand rises, and for one suspended heartbeat, I think he’ll reach for me. Maybe pull me closer. But then he stops himself, and the loss is immediate.

His jaw flexes. “Chey.” My name comes out low and rough enough to send heat spiraling through me.

I almost take it all back and tell him I don’t want to leave. That the thought of putting all that distance between us makes my chest ache in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with pretending.

Instead, I let my hand fall back to my side. The silence that settles between us feels as if it’ll burst with everything I’m unable to put into words.

22

Knox

The warmth of her fingertips disappears as her hand drops from my face. The absence of her touch hits harder than the punch to my eye.

“You didn’t answer the question. Is that what you want?”

The thought of waking up and not seeing her face or stepping into the living room and not finding her curled up on the couch has a tight, unfamiliar knot forming at the bottom of my gut.

I don’t believe this is what she really wants.

And I know for damn sure it isn’t what I want.

She’s standing in front of me in nothing but a sports bra and panties, her hair mussed, her eyes wide with a kind of resolve that doesn’t match the tremor in her voice.

She swallows. “It makes sense. I can stay with my family, and you won’t have to deal with⁠—”

“I don’t give a shit about any of that.”

Her mouth snaps shut, and the silence that stretches between us is thick enough to choke on.

I hold out my hand and hope like hell she’ll take it. For a beat, she hesitates before placing her fingers in my palm. The contact is enough to make my pulse jump. My grip tightens before I give her a gentle tug.

She stumbles forward half a step before landing in my lap. Her arms slip around my neck, and suddenly she’s close enough for the perfume she wore this evening to tease my senses. Close enough that everything I’ve been trying to keep buried starts pushing to the surface, threatening to break loose.

One arm slips around her back to steady her.

Chey’s eyes widen as she sucks in a breath. “Knox⁠—”

“You’re not going anywhere, Hollywood.”

It comes out like a fact. Not a suggestion or even a question.

Her lips part, probably to argue, but I don’t give her the opportunity.