Page 79 of The Big Puck

“A setup.” I laugh and watch his puzzled frown. I draw a hand across his forehead to smooth it out. To my surprise, it works. His frown disappears. “A beautiful, wonderful gift of a setup.”

“What are you talking about?”

I explain Tina’s feigned illness and Aunt Hildie’s insistence that I come to Buffalo—knowing there was a snowstorm. “I bet there’s not another room available in this city because they probably made sure of it.”

“Are you saying—”

“This is my dream come true—it’s the bold move I would’ve made if I weren’t so torn about leaving Krissy behind all the time.”

He scowls. “Krissy—is Aunt Hildie up to—”

“They’re fine. She had it all schemed out,” I explain.

“Am I a horrible father for not thinking of Krissy sooner?” He looks genuinely disgusted.

“No. It’s the way men are programmed, I think. You’re always too busy thinking about making the next baby.” If I thought he’d laugh at my joke, I was wrong. I backtrack. “I didn’t mean—”

He takes my hands and leads me from the bathroom. “I know it seems that way, but this isn’t all about sex. Our attraction—at least from my end—is about so much more. I hope you know that.”

He pulls me into bed, under the covers, and I lie against him, up on one elbow so I can see his face. “Tell me about it. What is it?” Discomfort shows as his jaw tenses. He tenses everywhere like he’d rather face a firing squad than explain his feelings. He tightens up like he’s shutting all the windows and doors, and I tug at him. “I need you to tell me how you feel, Spence.”

He huffs out the longest sigh I’ve ever heard, choppy and hot—the kind that could set fire to any woman within breathing distance because everything he does is sexy. Or is that just me? Shit. Maybe I’m the one who needs to explain that this is about more than sexual attraction between us.

“It’s complicated,” he says. “There’s a connection. I’m literally drawn to you and can’t look away—and it’s not just because you’re fucking gorgeous. Even if I were blind, I’d see the brightness of your smile and feel it. You… give me hope.”

* * *

What wakes me in the morning is not sunshine because it’s still dark. It’s his absence, and I grab for him, aware suddenly and fully that I want more. I should be shocked, but I’m too busy trying to ignore the fact that he doesn’t want morning sex—well, he does, but he refuses to give in.

“I need to leave. It’s already late. I shouldn’t have spent the night.” He’s sitting up on the edge of the bed, looking down at me with sleepy hazel eyes that make my pussy clench.

The ever-present smile falls from my face.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” He leans in, kisses me on my forehead, and I hold on.

“I need to go, Lainey,” he whispers, his eyes tender, his words strained. I’m not sure if it’s guilt or worry. Same thing. “I can’t be seen coming out of your room.”

“No one cares about that.” Even as I say the words, I know it’s not true. What I mean is I don’t care what anyone thinks.

“Gavonza knows something is going on between us, and he’s going to try and use it against me, to hold your reputation hostage—”

“I don’t care about my reputation.” But I don’t want to make things worse for him professionally, either. There has to be a way to deal with this situation. I refuse to give up—even if it feels like I’m behaving like a spoiled child. Like when I refused to believe Momma was really dead.

“Sweetheart, in this day and age, with social media making it easy for people to judge and cause real harm, you have to care about your reputation. And if you don’t, I’m sure Jason and your family do.” He pauses. “I care about your reputation.”

His words have the tenor and impact of finality, like a door closing. A lump rises in my throat made of fear and dread—foreign to me most of my life because I’ve never allowed them to touch me—except that one time. When my mother passed.

“This—we can’t do this again,” he says. “No sneaking around. You deserve better. It’s too risky.” He swipes a hand through his hair. “If I get caught coming out of your room it would generate all kinds of gossip that Gavonza would have no trouble turning into something sordid and nasty—something it’s not. I don’t want you to end up as social media fodder.

“And the last thing I want is to sneak around like you’re some dirty secret,” he says, breaking my heart in two. “With Aunt Hildie moved in, you can move out.” Now, he’s ripping my heart out of my chest and throwing it across the room. A sob slips from my throat.

I slap his face.

It’s a reflex, quick and without thought, fighting for the life of my heart. Against the man you’re falling in love with, stupid girl.

Horror fills me as my face heats up in shame and disbelief. I stare at him. My hand is imprinted in red across his cheek. We’re both motionless, as if we’re caught in the freeze-frame of a tragic movie.

I’ve never seen the kind of look he gives me now. Hurt, far beyond the slap, far beyond whatever I could do to him because I can see he’s punishing himself for causing my pain.