I shake my head. “That’s not possible.”
I leave her and start the shower, hoping the distraction will be enough to calm the anxiety swirling in my chest.
The door creaks open as I check the temperature on the water again. Perfect.
When I turn to face her, her arms are crossed and she’s leaning a hip against the doorframe, a smile on her lips.
“What?” I grin.
“Why call a truce so soon after the wager?” she asks me.
Long story short: I want her. Always.
“I think you know why, Blondie.”
She sighs. “Because you feel the same way about me that I do you. Like there’s never enough time and still all the time in the world.” She sighs, then glances down at her lightning bolt tattoo. “I never thought much about the future when I was with Cash,” she continues. “I let him lead.”
A spear of heat creeps up my neck. I hate talking about her relationship with Cash. I hate being reminded that she loved him.
“Where is this going?”
Her eyes meet mine. “I’ve never thought much about my future, Wilder. I hate that.”
I nod. “I know.”
“I’venever lived anywhere else,” she adds. “This is the furthest I’ve ever traveled from home.” There’s a long pause as she mulls over her thoughts. “Why did I think I’d be happy as an Allred?”
Something in me breathes a sigh of relief.
“Maybe you were never supposed to be an Allred,” I offer. But I don’t say what I really think.
Maybe you were always supposed to be a Cox.
“Being with you is like waking up from a really bad dream,” she starts.
I reach for her, unbuttoning her shorts. “Yeah?”
Her hands rest on my shoulders as I help her get out of them.
“Except I didn’t know it was bad,” she says softly. “I thought I was happy.” Her fingers tighten on my shoulders. “Then you happened.”
Guilt knots in my stomach as she tugs her shirt over her head. I hate lying to her. I hate keeping things from her.
Her hand finds my cheek. “Did I do that for you?”
My eyes flick to hers, and in them I see the fear that she’s not enough for me. The fear that I’m just like Cash.
Even now, she still looks at me like I might leave.
“In a way, yeah,” I admit. I have a lot of baggage. Baggage that could hurt ourrelationship if I’m not careful. But she did save me—not from a nightmare. From something else entirely. From the lonely, sad existence I lived.
She smiles. “I’m glad.”
Ingrid doesn’t say much after that. She pulls me to the shower, the steam cocooning us in warmth as the outside world and all its worries disappears.
She kisses me, her tongue sliding into my mouth. I savor the taste of her, my heart pounding as her hand reaches between us and she strokes me gently.
“For the record,” she coos, “I’m glad you called a truce.”
