“It’s the grant,” I say, leveling him with my gaze. “Isn’t it?”
It’s Forrest’s turn to look like he’s been hit in the gut with a rubber mallet. “How do you—”
“I saw the email. And before you accuse me of snooping, I’ll have you know it was just up on the computer for anyone to read. I didn’t go searching.”
Forrest wipes a hand down his face. Rubs it across his broad chest like he’s checking for a heartbeat. I do an involuntary Kegel.
“Well, shit,” he says flatly.
“Is that why you couldn’t sleep?”
“Yes,” he admits, exhaling. He brings his feet in closer toward the bench, spreading his thighs a little wider. My gaze drops to where the small towel is slung like a hammock between them. He seems unaware that the opening has parted into a slit up his inner thigh, barely hiding him from view. I know I should look away, and yet, I’ve never tried so hard to develop telekinesis.
After seeming to weigh his words, he goes on. “I asked for more time to make my decision, but there’s… pressure. The organization behind the grant is very eager to make an announcement.”
At the revelation that he didn’t immediately turn the grant down, the bright, unwieldy feeling inside my chest feels like it’s beating its wings against the dark box I’ve crammed it into. A small, selfish voice inside of me begins chanting,Take the grant. Take the grant. Take the grant, like I’m casting a spell.
“What will you do?” I ask, trying so hard to be impartial that I sound like a too-cool teenager asking if my crush is going to the mall this weekend.
Forrest’s throat works in a hard swallow. “I have to turn them down.”
“But your work,” I say, a hint of desperation bleeding into my voice. “It’s important, Forrest. I’m sure there’s a way to help Trapper and—”
“Would you leave Savannah?” he cuts in.
I feel the trapped thing in my chest crumple in on itself, cringing away from the question. “No,” I whisper.
He nods tightly, and I don’t fully understand why my disappointment is so crushing. I already knew this was the decision he’d make. More than that, I understand probably better than anyone why he has to make it. The heat is obviously getting to me. Even if he did move back to California, it’s not like we’d be anything morethan we are now. I have Savannah and the burning trash flotilla of my career to take care of.
But for once in my life, even that doesn’t feel like enough.
“I guess it’s settled, then,” I say, wiping a rolling bead of sweat from my temple. “You should email them back tonight. No point torturing yourself.” I look at the door of the sauna, suddenly wanting to escape. “Anyway, I should probably head back. It’s late.”
I stand, leaving a wet, ass-shaped stamp on the hot planks of wood where I’ve been sitting. To my alarm, Forrest stands too. My head swims as I stare at him, watching rivulets of moisture snake down his torso with every breath he takes. His high cheekbones are flushed, his eyes dark.
“Work isn’t the only thing making it hard to say no,” he says in a low rush. Like it’s been yanked from him.
I’m lightheaded. It has to be the heat. Still, I make no move toward the door.
“What is it, then?” I say as my pulse begins pounding in my ears. I swear I can feel every individual bead of sweat on my body. The feeling in my chest is putting up a fight again, pushing against the walls I’ve constructed around it to protect myself.
Forrest shakes his head, jaw muscles jumping. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll have to settle for my own Happily Never After.”
My eyes lift away from the contrast of his olive skin and the bright white of the towel. How tightly he’s gripping it. I can barely hear myself think over the throb of my blood. I want him. I want him to touch me so I’ll forget about losing him. We have three weeks left together. Isn’t that better than nothing? I’m desperate. High on his ridiculous evergreen-scented sweat and his big romance hero body and his forest-green gaze and every other silly trope he puts to shame. It’s why my hands are sliding up the warm terry cloth of my towel, almost without my permission.
“There’s another option, you know,” I say, my heart beating against my chest like it’s trying to make a prison break.
“Tell me,” he says hoarsely, taking a step closer.
I hook a shaking finger into the spot where my towel is tucked above the swell of my breasts. The fabric is tight and damp from my sweat and the steam. All my red tape is waving like banners in the wind behind me, but all I can see is him. As the fabric gives a little, the thing in my chest flares hot enough to burn down every wall around it. Forrest’s eyes drop to my hand, his full lips parting like his entire future depends on what I’m about to do. Heart in my throat, I give one firm tug, and the towel falls. “Happy for right now.”
“Jesus Christ,” he rasps, his eyes roaming over me wildly. He moves in close, and I’m struck anew by how much larger he is than me. “Happy for right now?” he repeats as one of his hands comes to cradle my upturned jaw.
I nod, my breath shortening to small, quick gulps as his thumb glides over my cheekbone. “Just till I leave,” I negotiate. “We’ll keep it simple.”
“There’s nothing simple about this,” he argues, but his thumb has moved to the corner of my mouth. His long fingers are trailing down my neck, making my nipples pinch. “We said we wouldn’t do this.”
“I did try to walk out,” I say, shifting closer to him. I watch a bead of sweat slide from his throat into his chest hair as his thumb begins stroking my bottom lip, and I know the scales have tipped for him too. That the pain of fighting this has become more unendurable than the fear of giving in. Still, I ask him, “Should I try again?”
