Page 74 of Burn the Script

His stern tone catches me off guard, and I lean away to glimpse his expression. It’s pinched, closed to all humor.

“Since when are you the jealous type?” I ask.

“Since I sat in a French café and watched a long line of men fight for your attention.” He holds my jaw in a loose grip. “Only I get to flirt with you. And I’m the only one who’s allowed to blow up your phone with thirsty messages.”

I scoff. “Don’t pretend your DMs aren’t flooded with worse.”

“You know I don’t manage my social media for that reason. I’m not interested in what anyone else has to offer. I’m only interested in you and the dirty messages we send.”

When I grab his jaw, my hold is firmer. “No more pics or videos, Graham. They’re too risky, and you need to stay focused.”

“You keep me focused.” His fingertip meanders from my chin to my sternum. “This beauty mark on your chest keeps me focused.”

“It’s a mole.”

Sitting tall, I shift higher on his stomach until his cock gets wedged between my butt cheeks. Before I can get my grind on, he reaches around, grabs my waistband, and tugs my underwear into my crack.

“No more games, Miguel. I draw the line at you teasing me with this ass.”

I scrape my teeth on my bottom lip, rocking back and forth. “What’s the punishment for crossing the line?”

“Sit on my face and find out.”

I want him. To hell with our state of limbo. We’ve waited long enough, and our bodies like to remind us of an indisputable fact: Graham and I were made for each other. And after we shower, he’ll be following through on that threat.

The distinct, tinkling sound of my calendar notification pierces the lusty air. Time got away from us.

He throws his head back against the sofa arm and growls. “I will murder your goddamn phone.”

I slide off him, landing on my feet while picking the wedgie from my ass. “Murder your travel plans while you’re at it. We need to leave for the airport soon.”

“We?” he asks, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.

“I’m giving you a ride. Don’t”—I slap a hand over his mouth—“make a sex joke. I’ve had enough of your commentary today.”

“I’m innocent,” he mumbles against my palm.

When he licks me, I jerk my hand away. “Go get ready. I’ll clean up our mess.”

While Graham showers upstairs, I tidy the movie room downstairs, hauling things back and forth. On each trip, I glance at the closed door at the end of the hallway. It calls to me like a siren song, but I steer clear and scrub myself with a wet cloth in the guest bathroom.

Grumbling about still having to wear cargo pants, I step out of the downstairs bathroom and lose the battle with temptation. My feet carry me toward the door to my sewing room, unwilling. I press my forehead against it, one hand on the knob, and weigh my options.

On the other side is an empty space, a reflection of the past year. I could confront reality and own the mess I’ve made of our relationship. If I walk away, I can pretend the room bursts with life again, a reflection of today. I open the door.

Nothing but good memories assault me as I drag a finger along all the built-in surfaces. They’re spotless, free of dust. The cleanliness and warm feelings this abandoned room evokes are a relieving surprise, but the leather chair—the lone piece of furniture—in the corner is what puts a smile on my face.

I drop into it, imagining my life here from Graham’s point of view. How many hours did he sit and watch me sew, framed by windows to the outside world? Too many count.

“This room was a selfish gift.”

I jump at the sound of his voice. He leans against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. His hair is wet, and the sadness in his eyes isn’t welcome, not today.

“Selfish how?” I ask, pushing out of the chair when he joins me in the room. Like magnets, we meet in the middle.

“We spent so much time in this house. Looking back, I think some part of me hoped giving you a nicer space to escape to would make it feel less suffocating for you.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, guiding him backward as I creep forward. “Being here never felt suffocating. I love the house, this room…all of it. But you deserve a life beyond these walls.”