Page 60 of The Romance Line
She’s quiet for a beat, perhaps absorbing that as I near Filbert Street. “Max,” she says softly.
“Yes?”
She sets a hand on my biceps. That simple touch from her is almost too much for me to handle as I drive. I do my best to focus on the road as she says, “I do know that some things are personal. I don’t want to use everything. I don’t want to use most things. I wish you’d see that.”
I wish I could too. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
We’re a few blocks from her home. She lets go of my arm, sighs, then says, “Lucas was my physical therapist. I was in the hospital for a while from the car accident. It was pretty bad. I had some surgeries. Some injuries. I needed rehab. He was one of the people who helped me a lot.”
There are so many questions I want to ask her. So much more I want to know. But mostly I take what she’s said for the gift that it is—a piece of her after I gave her a piece of me.
“I’m really glad he helped,” I say, meaning it as I pull up on her block, sliding into a spot right outside her townhome. I turn off the engine, then shoot her a cocky smile. “But I’m glad, too, you don’t like him. Fucking knew he wasn’t your type.”
She swats my arm, but she’s smiling. “Can you ever just let a nice moment be?”
I scoff. “You know the answer to that, sunshine. And it’s no.”
“It sure is.”
“Like you’d want it any other way.”
She rolls her eyes. Andthis? This banter, this needling, this energy? It’s a million times safer than sharing these intimate pieces of ourselves with each other.
I nod toward her townhome. “I’ll walk you up,” I say, then get out of the car. As I stride around the front of the vehicle, I remind myself to behave. I’ll escort her to the stoop, then say goodbye. Watch her as she goes up the steps, unlocks the front entryway, then disappears safely inside.
That’s the plan as I open her car door.
She steps out, and her brown eyes hold mine. But hers are full of curiosity. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Doing what?”
She tips her forehead toward the nearby steps. “Walking me home when I’m ten feet away. Showing me what you think a man should do on a date.”
“I am,” I say, owning it.
“Why?” Her tone is a touch desperate, like she has to know what’s really going on with me, and she pushes for it, asking, “Because you want to keep proving that Lucas is wrong for me? Max, you already won that battle. Why are you doing this?”
That’s a great question actually. A fair fucking question too. I could say it’s the right thing to do. I could say I’d do this even if I wasn’t borderline obsessed with her. I could say that even if she were a friend I’d walk her up the steps. That’s all true. It’s what a man should do. But instead, I step closer, because the gravitational pull of Everly is too strong for me to resist. “Like I said, because that’s what I’d do ifIwere out with you.”
“But we’re not. And you made your point earlier,” she says, lifting her chin, like she’s trying to stay strong even as her tone wobbles. Like she’s hurt. By my point? By Lucas? I’m not sure at all. “Lucas isn’t into me the way you think he should be.”
But I am. And it’s a big problem. “Don’t want to talk about him anymore,” I mutter. “Just let me walk you to the door.”
“Fine,” she says, her palms raised in surrender.
I set my hand on her back again. A slight shiver seems to run through her when I touch her. I try not to let that go to my head. Or my dick.
But as we go, I spread my fingers wider across the silk of her shirt. Press a little harder. Rub a little more. Curl mythumb around her waist. Register every hitch of her breath.
By the time we’re at the top of the steps, my hand feels too right on her back to let go. “I’m not sure Ihavemade my point, Everly.”
She turns to me, facing me, so I have to drop my hand from her back. Her gaze is wary but intrigued, her eyes flickering with questions. “What’s your point exactly?”
“Like I said earlier, if this was a date I’d walk you to the door.”
“But it’s not. You keep telling me it’s not.” It’s like she’s trying to catch me on a technicality, or maybe to push me into admitting something. She doesn’t make a move to go inside. Her gaze is locked on mine, and the air is charged between us. It crackles with anticipation.