Then he kisses me one last time and lingers just long enough to make me hate him a little when he pulls back. Finally, he pushes himself up to sit beside me.
I stay flat on my back for a moment, trying to catch my breath, staring up at the blue sky like it might have answers. It doesn’t. Obviously. It’s just blue and useless while my body aches for everything we’re not doing.
When I finally push myself up too, I tug my shirt back into place, even though Connor’s hands have rumpled it beyond salvation.
He’s looking at me.
My mouth feels wrecked. My hair is probably a disaster. And my jeans are doing absolutely nothing to hide how much that makeout session affected me.
We’re both breathing hard, faces flushed. Connor’s pupils are blown so wide there’s only a thin ring of blue left around them.
“Noah,” he says, my name coming out rough enough to make me shiver.
“Yeah?” I whisper, hoping the next thing out of his mouth isn’t a rejection.
But he doesn’t get a chance to say anything.
My phone buzzes loudly in my back pocket.
The sound cuts through the moment, yanking me out of whatever dangerous little world we’ve created. I pull out my phone and glance at the screen out of habit, then freeze when I see a text from an unknown number.
I swipe it open.
Hey, where are you? Do you have time to talk? Rick
I frown at the screen.
I’m pretty sure I blocked him six months ago, so either this is a new number or he’s texting me from his fiancée’s phone, which is a level of unhinged I do not have the emotional bandwidth to unpack right now.
Also, we already talked yesterday in the forest. What the hell does he want from me now?
“Everything okay?” Connor asks.
“It’s Rick,” I say, looking up at him. “He says he wants to talk again.”
Connor’s expression shifts, but he doesn’t say anything.
Before I can decide what to do, the phone buzzes in my hand again.
Another message from Rick.
I need to talk to you.
And then another.
Please, baby.
I stare at the screen.
What the actual fuck?
CHAPTER 12. Connor
The fire crackles and pops, sending embers up into the night sky.
I should be enjoying this—the warmth against my face, the smell of toasted marshmallows, Noah’s body pressed against mine on the blanket we’re sharing. But all I can think about is that text message.
Please, baby.
