Time (Laws of Physics #3)(11)

She was nodding before I’d finished speaking. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize.”

“Okay, sorry—ah! I mean, okay. Okay.” Mona rolled her lips between her teeth, still nodding, her eyes wide and remorseful, but also bright, like she found my situation a little funny.

A pretty, pink blush was creeping up her neck, and it was fantastically distracting. I wanted to pull the neck of her shirt to the side again, peek inside, find out where the blush started.

Instead, I stepped away—one step, and then another—clearing my throat again and forcing firmness into my voice. “We need to talk.” It was as much a reminder to me as it was to her.

“Of course.” Her voice was also firm, but her attention flickered quickly to the front of my pants, her cheeks now pink, as were her ears.

I shook my head at her, increasing the distance between us out of necessity. “Do you want to talk?”

Shit. Where had that question come from? There was no choice. We had to talk.

Mona, staring at me, her eyes slowly narrowing as she chewed on her bottom lip, didn’t answer.

“Mona?”

“What are my options?”

My mouth dropped open and I exhaled a laugh. “What are your options?”

“Yeah.” She took tiny steps forward, her eyes once more dropping to my fly, and then back up. “I mean, we only have two hours, probably less now. Other than talking, what are the options?”

I stared at her, struggling, standing between the steady voice of reason and a raging hard-on. My eyes lowered to her baggy shirt, simultaneously both wishing it were see-through and hugely grateful it was so shapeless.

“First, we need to be—we need to be on the same page here.” I choked out, my leg and foot conspiring to take a half step forward.

“About what?”

“About us.”

This had been phase two of Kaitlyn’s plan, and I’d been kicking myself all week for not being more explicit about what I wanted before leaving Aspen.

“Okay. What page are you on?”

Crossing my arms, I gathered a deep breath. If Mona could be brave, vulnerable with me, then I could be the same with her. “If it wasn’t obvious, I want to make sure I’m clear now: I am not interested in anyone else. I want a commitment from you that we’ll be completely exclusive.”

She grinned, her eyes brightening. “Fine. Done. We’re exclusive.”

EXCELLENT!

“Okay.” I nodded, having a hard time not grinning like a fool. “Good.”

“Good.” She edged closer, and her goofy grin made me feel better about mine. “Anything else?”

What else?

“Um.”

Her beauty was distracting, and I fought to regather the ends of my wits.

Just as she took another half step, I remembered. “Wait. Yes! We need to make plans, so we know when we’ll see each other again.”

But it was more than just making plans. If we did anything now, I really would drag her out of here, take her with me to the West Coast, keep her in my hotel room, hide her clothes, and eat her out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And snacks.

We have plenty of time, plenty.

The hard-on was winning.

“Yes. Plans. Of course.” Mona twisted her fingers in the hem of her T-shirt, showing me a sliver of smooth olive-toned skin at her stomach.

I’m sure it wasn’t purposeful or meant to make me crazy, but it was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. My body lurched forward, already consumed, while I stood perfectly still, besieged, so close to giving in.

“But—and hear me out—we could make plans over the phone, or via email. However, it’s much, much harder to do other things over the phone.” She paused for a beat, staring at me as though hoping I would read her mind, and then added, “And basically impossible via email.”

I swallowed around the scorching, thick knot in my throat, unable to do anything about the one low in my stomach. Yet.

“Mona,” I started, stopped, winced, closed my eyes, then began again. “Mona, I want you. The things I want to do to you, to your body, they require more than two hours and a ten-by-ten room. As much as I missed you, as much as I crave you, as much as I’ve fantasized about being close” —bare and touching and fucking your brains out— “we need to take things slow. Two hours in the cramped guest room of your sister’s apartment? No. That will only frustrate the hell out of me.”

I opened my eyes, stared at her pants, waited a beat, and then lifted my gaze. Her lips were parted, her eyes hazy, reminding me of that insane, primal moment between us in Aspen, in the pool.

The memory haunted me. I’d imagined so many different endings more than a thousand times. Fantastically filthy, wonderfully selfish endings. But I had zero regrets.

Gathering my self-control and a deep, calming breath, I shook my head. “And these things I want to do, they also require trust.”

Her eyes sharpened, sobered, and she frowned. “I trust you.”

“Do you?”

“Of course.”

“Then why have you been crying?”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“No, Mona. You don’t trust me. And you were right, in Aspen. We don’t know each other.”