Page 13 of Intersect

Is it a bad idea? Of course it is. It’s the worst possible idea. If he’s right about his lack of control and it goes too far at the lake, he’ll never touch me again.

However, thanks to my own lack of control, I just want it too badly to say no.

I try to convince Nick to meet me away from Caroline’s on Saturday morning. I’ve caught Jeff following me twice since Wednesday, and though it’s unlikely he’d be waiting this early in the day, I just can’t be sure. He’s unraveling, turning into someone I don’t recognize.

I haven’t told Nick about the incidents because I suspect he’d react poorly. My suggestion to meet in a neutral location fell on deaf ears, but he’d have refused whether he knew about Jeff or not.

He’s idling outside Caroline’s building in his Jeep when I get to the street. I never dreamed I could feel so excited about going on a trip to comb through a storage unit, though if I’m being honest, most of my excitement is reserved for what will come after the storage unit.

“Holy shit,” he says. “If I haven’t mentioned it before, you look really good in shorts.”

“I’m a student now,” I remind him. “Well, almost. Time to start dressing like one.”

His eyes flicker over my legs. “I’d never have made it through college or medical school if you’d been back at my apartment dressed like that.”

Immediately, I’m picturing it, all the things he might have done to me back then if our lives had gone differently. I lean over the console to brush my mouth against his. “If I’d been back at your apartment,” I say low against his ear, “I’d probably have been naked.”

“Fuck,” he says with a heavy exhale, pulling onto the road, “you just guaranteed I will be thinking about you naked this entire drive, no matter what we’re discussing.”

“Current affairs?”

“Nope, still seeing you naked.”

“Hmmm. Small children attending their first carnival?”

“At the risk of sounding creepy, I’m still thinking about you naked.”

I eye the bulge in his shorts. “I like you thinking about me naked.”

He raises a brow. “We need to change the topic,” he says. “Or separate rooms isn’t going to be enough to keep me away from you.”

The idea of sharing a bed with him warms something inside me. Even if we never even touch. “We don’t actually have to sleep in separate rooms you know,” I tell him. “I trust you. And I trust myself, more or less.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says.

I turn to face him. “I shouldn’t trust myself or I shouldn’t trust you?”

He glances over quickly before his eyes return to the road. “Either. There’s something I never told you about that night in Baltimore.”

Baltimore. A night in a hotel, in separate beds. Where I woke up in his and he woke up in mine. “Tell me,” I whisper, trying to hold my dread at bay.

“We came extremely close to sleeping together,” he says quietly.

My breathing comes to a halt. “What?”

“We were both asleep,” he says hurriedly. “I was dreaming about you. It’s only because something about it didn’t make sense that I woke. And when my eyes opened you were sound asleep in my bed and we were seconds from having sex.”

The idea that I fall asleep and dream about things that happened in another life is bad enough. The idea of falling asleep and actually doing things I don’t remember—in this or any life—chills me to the bone. I dreamed about him that night. I dreamed I was the aggressor, the one who pushed him into the back seat of his parents’ car and had my way with him, sort of. Was I dreaming or was I actually acting it out in real life? I press my hands to my face. “Oh my God.”

His hand leaves the steering wheel and finds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry. I probably should have told you, but I was just worried you’d feel guilty. And I guess if I’m being honest, I didn’t know whether you’d blame me, or avoid me afterward.”

I release a long breath, thinking of how badly that might have gone. The possibility that I could have gotten pregnant, obviously, but also…if I’d known it had happened, I’d have stayed a mile from him. There would have been no dance at the harbor, no talk in his office, no visit to the lake. I would have allowed my own guilt and shame and fear of him to lead me to all the wrong decisions. “Thank God you didn’t. I think I’d have wound up married to Jeff, solely out of guilt, if you had.”

His hand tightens around mine. “But that’s why I think we need separate rooms. It’s too out of control with us anyway, and if it can happen when we don’t even know it’s happening…” He takes another glance at my bare legs. “Yeah. You definitely need your own room.”

I can’t argue with him. And it’s not even for my protection—it’s for his. He’s so worried about being predatory, but I’m no longer sure he’s the one we should be worried about.

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