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“Two years.”
“Why did you break up?”
“I left for PA school. He moved back to his hometown. Neither of us wanted to do the long-distance thing.”
She uncrosses her arms and looks to the side. The breeze picks up and blows a strand of hair across her face. I reach over and push it behind her ear, brushing across her cheek in the process.
“You’re a commitment-phobe,” she says like it’s an ugly trait.
“Is that what you want from me, Lo? A commitment?” I take a step closer.
Her chin lifts. “Of course not. I barely know you.”
I force myself further into her space, and she shuffles backward until she’s pressed against a tree.
“So, what is it that you want? A fling? A vacation romp?”
She rolls her eyes and looks away. I’m inches from her pouty lips.
“You didn’t say no,” I murmur, leaning an elbow on the bark next to her head, caging her in.
“I think it’syouwho wants a vacation fling,” she counters.
She’s breathing harder. Her eyes are dilated. She’s affected by me.
“I do want it. I want it with you.”
She scoffs out an incredulous laugh. “Well, that’s bold. And presumptuous.”
She’s trying to act like she’s insulted, but her chest is heaving, and her eyes are darkened by lust, giving her away.
I play with a strand of her hair, winding it around my fingertip.
“We aren’t kids anymore, Lo. And I’m too old to play games.”
“But isn’t that what this entire thing has been—a game? A competition between you and Wyatt.” Her eyes are focused over my shoulder. She won’t look at me. “Do you have a bet or something? Who can bag the lonely thirty-something year old woman who’s traveling alone first?”
“Are you lonely?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer, and somehow, I think if she’s lonely, it must be by choice. I can’t imagine any man not wanting her.
“There’s no bet,” I assure her. “Just me … wanting you.”
She still won’t look at me. She’s on guard.
“Someone must’ve done a number on you,” I finally observe.
Her eyes slice over to mine, and her spine stiffens, making me think I’m not far off with my assessment. The green color ofher eyes is darker on the outer portion and lightens toward the middle. She has a few golden specks hiding in the midst. I drop her hair and wrap my fingers around her neck, holding her in place.
“What do you want?” I whisper.
There’s a full minute of silence, where all I hear is the breeze rustling the pine trees and the water gently lapping against the stones.
“I want to escape,” she finally admits, and I think it might be the first time I’ve broken through her surface and gotten an honest answer.
“Escape what?”
“My life,” she says softly. There’s a sheen of tears in her eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. “My reality.”
