Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
Tommy caught the word. “What?”
“Nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing. It was the realization that sitting here, talking like this, pretending we could be friends or colleagues or whatever the hell this was, felt like the cruelest kind of torture. “Just… maybe we should focus on tomorrow. On work.”
The temperature in the cab seemed to drop ten degrees.
The rest of the drive passed in charged silence. Every time Tommy shifted in his seat, I caught a whiff of his scent—a hint of expensive deodorant over masculine sweat—that made my palms itch. When he reached up to run his fingers through his hair, the movement drew my attention to the line of his throat, the way his shirt pulled slightly across his chest.
I forced myself to focus on the road.
“Foster—” Tommy started as we pulled into SERA’s parking lot.
“Long day,” I cut him off, throwing the truck into park with more force than necessary. “And an early start tomorrow.”
I was out of the truck and grabbing Chickie and my gear before he could respond. The walk to Cabin 8 was too short. Tommy followed slightly behind, and whatever he’d been about to say in the truck remained unspoken.
The cabin felt even smaller than I remembered. With both of us inside, plus Chickie sniffing around excitedly, the space was suffocating. I reached for the duffle on my bed and immediately regretted the choice when Tommy moved to his own bed directly across from mine.
Three feet away. Maybe four if I was being generous.
“Look,” Tommy said quietly, sitting down on the edge of his own bed. “I know this is awkward. But we’re going to be working together for eight weeks. Maybe we could just—”
“Keep it professional,” I finished, turning away to find my shower stuff and something to sleep in. “Yep. Agreed.”
The tension in his silence made me glance back. He was sitting with his shoulders slightly slumped, and for a moment, he looked lost. Disappointed. It reminded me of the expression he’d worn in Hawaii when he’d pulled away from our kiss on the beach.
My chest tightened with that unwelcome urge to comfort him again. To tell him I didn’t mean to be an ass, that I was just trying to protect myself from wanting something I couldn’t have.
Instead, I turned away and started rifling through my bag.
“I’ll take first shower,” I said gruffly.
The bathroom was barely big enough for one person, let alone the broad shoulders I’d inherited from my father. I stripped quickly and stepped under the lukewarm spray, hoping the water would wash away the tension coiled in my muscles.
It didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse. Because now I was naked, alone, and thinking about Tommy Marian less than twenty feet away, probably getting undressed himself.
Stop.
I scrubbed my hair aggressively, focusing on anything other than the mental image of Tommy pulling his shirt over his head, revealing that lean torso I’d felt in Hawaii. The way he’d reacted to my touch, urgent and desperate.
He’s not staying. He’s going to California for some fancy job, and you’ll never see him again. His wife is probably waiting for him there.
The reminder should have helped. Instead, it just made the hollow ache in my chest worse.
I dressed quickly in sleep pants and a T-shirt, then opened the bathroom door to find Tommy sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I emerged, and his gaze swept over me before he quickly looked away.
“All yours,” I murmured.
He stood, grabbing clothes from his bag, and we did an awkward dance as he moved toward the bathroom. The cabin was so narrow that he had to brush past me, his shoulder bumping mine, his scent washing over me again.
We both froze for a heartbeat, standing too close, facing each other. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing shallow. I could see the pulse beating at the base of his throat.
Kiss him.
Instead, I stepped back, putting precious distance between us and trying to reject the memory of our kisses. “Get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”
Tommy’s expression shuttered. “Right. Of course.”
The bathroom door closed with a soft click, and I sank onto my bed, dropping my head into my hands.
This push-pull between wanting Tommy Marian and remembering I couldn’t have him was like climbing a steep rock face and then falling back down, over and over, on fucking repeat.
I’d just manage to pull myself up, to remind myself that I was a professional who could be distant and civil with my bunkmate for the next eight weeks, when suddenly, the feeling of wanting him would overwhelm me.
I’d lose my grip on reality, forget all the reasons I couldn’t have him, and find myself tumbling, weightless, with no sense of up or down, the only thought in my head that I needed to be close to him, to find that beautiful, easy connection we’d shared that night in Hawaii.