More Than I Could (70)

“What did you want me to say?”

What I wanted you to say is ridiculous for two people who barely know each other. My face flushes with embarrassment, and I start to extricate myself from his lap. But he holds on.

“How about this,” he says, his tone low. “I’ll tell you what you wanted me to say.”

“Chase—”

“You wanted me to say that maybe our connection isn’t so weird after all.” His eyes shine under the moon. “You hoped I would tell you that I can’t stop thinking about you and that you’re wrecking my life. That I want to come home and see you. That I wait for your texts during the day. That I’m so fucking unsure what this all means, but I’m also so damn certain that this is different from anything I’ve had before, and I can’t imagine ever finding it again.”

I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. His words sink into my psyche, but I pivot away from the seriousness of it all. “Are you saying you have a crush on me, Mr. Marshall?”

He rests his arm along the top of the swing and laughs.

I rest my cheek between his collar and jaw, smiling from ear to ear.

He refastens his hands around my ass and sighs. “So that’s it? I say all that, and you accuse me of having a crush?”

“Not just a crush. A big crush.”

“Yeah, well, here’s the bullshit—I knew this would happen. As soon as you climbed out of that rental car, I knew you were my weakness. That you’d be trouble.”

I hum against his chest.

We swing back and forth. I know I haven’t said anything in return, but I’m afraid it'll be wrong if I say too much. But as I nestle against him and hear his beating heart, I know I have to say something.

I can’t pivot forever. And really—I don’t want to.

“This isn’t like anything I’ve felt before either,” I say, wading into the conversation slowly. “And that scares me a little.”

“Why?”

I sigh, wishing the answer was as simple as the question.

“Logistics, first of all,” I say. “I can’t do a long-distance relationship, and I’m not going to find a job in Peachwood Falls. I can’t afford to move here and support myself.”

He nods slowly.

“And even if I could …” I raise and look at him. “We don’t even know each other, Chase. You can’t make big life decisions over something you’ve only known for a few weeks.”

“Someone, you mean.”

“Either way.” I frown, taking in his frustration. “Whenever I see or talk to you, I fall harder. I get more comfortable. But every day is a day closer to when I go home.”

He studies me in a way only Chase can. His grumpiness reminds me of the day I met him. It settles over his features, and he narrows his eyes as he navigates his thoughts.

“So,” he says, pressing his lips together. “You’re telling me you’re falling for me.”

I smack his chest. It cracks his demeanor, and he chuckles.

“Do you know what I think?” he asks, swinging us again.

“What’s that?”

“I think it might have something to do with logistics, and that’s fair. And it might have something to do with us just getting to know each other, and that’s fair too. But I think you’re out of your comfort zone with this, and that scares you.”

Asshole.

“I’m not a clown, and you don’t know how to navigate without a circus,” he says, echoing our first interaction.

“Oh, you’re a clown.”

He rolls his eyes, making me smile.

My stomach knots as I feel how he touches me. It’s tender and with respect. But there’s an underlying strength that reminds me that he’ll protect me and, by the feeling of his cock hardening under me, that he’ll fuck me too. And I think I’ll love one just as much as the other.

Chase is everything I’ve never allowed myself to have. And I can’t rid myself of the nagging voice that reminds me why I haven’t ever had someone like him. That voice worries how I’ll feel when this ends between us.

If it ends.

When it ends.

I sigh. “Can we stop talking and make out instead?”

He laughs. “I’ll compromise.”

“Do I get your cock at the end?”

“Always.”

I kiss him quickly. “Then let’s compromise.”

He shakes his head, entertained by my antics. “Let’s make a new agreement.”

“Fine. What do you want it to say?”

“I want it to say,” he says, looking me in the eye like I’m not listening, “that I want you in my bed. I want to kiss you whenever and wherever I want. I want you, and you’re important to me. Okay?”

Oh my gosh.

No one has ever said that to me before. I’m not sure I’ve ever been important to anyone besides my mother. And Iyala Nails, if I believe that—but only when it benefits them.

“It’s time that I start factoring myself in my life for a change,” he says. “I don’t think I ever would’ve bothered or even noticed until I met you.”

It would be wonderful to grab his words and let him prove that he means what he says. But I can’t lose touch with reality … and why we weren’t doing this.