Page 93 of Campus Fake

But I couldn’t find one.

Later that night, Sam was curled against me in my bed, her head on my chest and her fingers tracing idle patterns on my stomach. The house was quiet. It was late enough that everyone had either gone to bed or gone out to celebrate our win.

Words had been building in my throat that were bubbling to the surface. “I want a life with you, Sam.”

Her fingers stopped their tracing, and she glanced up at me, her gaze open and reflecting the same love I felt.

“I’ve always known what I wanted. You know that. It’s always been you above anything else. But after the accident, I stopped being willing to waste time on anything that isn’t this. Us. The life we’re building here. I’m done letting anyone else’s expectations take up space in my head.”

Her lips lifted in a tender smile, but she let me keep going without interrupting.

“I don’t want to make any decisions about my future without you in them,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. “Foster asked me tonight about opening a restaurant together. And my first thought was that I needed to talk to you. Because none of it matters if you’re not part of it.”

Her hand came up and cupped my jaw, her thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Harry.”

“You’re it for me. I knew it before, but the accident made it impossible to pretend you are anything less than everything.”

Her eyes searched mine and then she pulled my mouth down to hers and kissed me soft and slow, like we had all the time in the world.

A lifetime.

She pulled back. “Thank you for waiting for me. For being patient when I was too blind and too scared to see what was right in front of me. Thank you for coming to Seattle with me and being my rock. For holding me up when I was afraid I wasn’t strong enough to do it by myself. Thank you for always being so honest and devoted to me. I want a life with you too. God, I love you so much it feels overwhelming.”

I grinned. “I know the feeling.”

Her smile widened and then her lips were back on mine, soft and steady. “Stay in Montana with me,” she whispered against my mouth.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Good. Then I think you’d better text Foster and tell him you guys are opening a restaurant. And while we’re talking about our future, I should probably tell you that your sister basically offered me a job.”

FORTY-FOUR

The biggest pain about my recovery was that I wasn’t allowed to have sex while the worst of my injuries healed, including the long incision that now cut through my abdomen. That might not have been an issue for most people, but they didn’t have a Greek god of a boyfriend walking around shirtless, doting on their every whim, and overall just making their ovaries explode because he was so fucking hot and perfect.

The scar was ugly and impossible to ignore. It was the only thing that slightly hindered my ever-growing libido.

I’d never been short on confidence in my body, but I’d never had a scar this ugly before. The damage had been more extensive in my last accident, but they’d been able to repair everything with very small incisions.

There was nothing small about the scar cutting a straight line down my stomach.

But the doctor had signed off on physical activity after six weeks of healing, and I was desperate to try to find my comfort with my body again, new scar and all.

Harry was cooking dinner when I got home from my follow-up appointment. The kitchen smelled like garlic and rosemary, and he had his sleeves pushed up past his forearms while he stirred something on the stove. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him for a moment, feeling the familiar pull of want that had been building for weeks with nowhere to go.

“Doctor cleared me,” I said, keeping my voice casual.

He looked up. “For what?”

“All physical activity.”

His gaze held mine and I watched the words register. His gray eyes darkened just enough that my stomach flipped and heat crept up the back of my neck.

“Everything?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said, popping the p. “Full clearance. Running, jumping, heavy lifting.” I paused. “Other forms of cardio.”

His mouth twitched. He turned the burner off, set the spoon down, and crossed the kitchen toward me with a focus that reminded me of the way he watched the ice during a game. It was intense having the weight of all his attention solely focused on me.