I nod slowly, heart thumping, trying to find the right words. “You’re not wrong. This place is its own little bubble. But I don’t think what’s happening here is fake. I don’t thinkyouare fake. And I sure as hell know that I’m not pretending to like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—I meet a lot of people, being ...” Jeez, how do I put this? “A sort of celebrity, and it’s been a long fucking time since I’ve had this much fun with a woman.” I shift in my seat. “If we’d met in a bar, or at a party, I would be texting you for a date so fast.”
Her head tilts. “What makes you so sure?”
Easy. “’Cause you would have rolled your eyes at me, not been impressed, probably thrown a drink in my face—and I would have loved every second of it, because very few people are honest with me.” My friends, yes. Women, no. “Does that make sense?”
Annabelle nods slowly, and I want to pull her in my lap and kiss the frown off her face. But instead, I stay where I am to give her space.
My phone buzzes, and I ignore it.
“You wanna take a shower?” I ask her. “Might make you feel better.”
My phone buzzes again.
Annabelle looks at it. “Sure. I’ll shower, and you can call your trainer and handle ... your stuff.”
Stuff.
I wait until she leaves the table and the door to the bathroom clicks shut before finally flipping over my phone.
Nine notifications.
Two from my trainer. Five from random friends. One from the Sentinels group chat.
My phone is blowing up.
Chapter 19
Annabelle
I wrap myself in a towel and sit on the edge of the tub, hair dripping onto my knees, unsure why I suddenly feel like crying.
It’s not sadness, exactly. Not joy either. Something like homesickness? Only I’m not sure what I’m homesick for ...
There is literally nothing at home for me. And Lucy is in Arizona with her new boyfriend, living it up, so not even that.
Damn Maverick.
Why did he have to go and kiss me harder than I’ve ever been kissed before? Why did we have to have so much fun, even though we were forced together? Why did he have to act so cool about being accidentally married to me? A man who actually listens when I talk, loves puzzles, and is afraid of storms. And don’t get me started on his Scottish roots ...
This cabin is a fantasy. A beautiful, ridiculous dream, and we both know it.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to curl up in it and never leave.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and pull a face. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes look sad. Ugh. I towel off, shimmy into a pair of cotton shorts and an oversize hoodie—the kind that swallows mewhole—and let my wet hair hang down around my shoulders to air dry. When I’m done slathering my face with moisturizer and lotions, I return to the living room, only to find Mav out on the deck, gazing out into the sky.
Shoot.
Not a storm . . .
The horizon is starting to darken, bruised clouds gathering over the water. Just a little weather. A passing tantrum from the lake.
I slide the door open and step out barefoot, the deck cool against my soles.
“You okay?” I ask, careful not to spook the moment, ’cause we have more important things to talk about.
