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My breath catches in my chest. He thinks I’m asleep. He thinks I can’t hear him.
I should stir, cough, do something to let him know I’m awake. Something to keep from overhearing what I’m clearly not supposed to overhear, even if he is talking about me.
But I don’t.
“I know you think I’m some rich, playboy asshole.” He lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Maybe I am. Or was. Not that I’ve been with a girl since I fucking met you …”
He hasn’t been with a girl … since we met?
But that was months ago. With Tuck’s reputation, he’s not the kind of guy to go even days without a hookup.
“I just wish like hell you’d give me the chance to show you that I’m not looking for a hookup. Not looking for a temporary thing. What am I looking for?” There’s another heavy sigh. “Fuck if I know. I’ve never wanted anything from a relationship but a short, good time. But this? This is different. I don’t have enough experience even thinking about what I want out of a relationship. But I know I want a hell of a lot more with you than I’ve ever wanted with anyone else.”
Do I still think that that’s all Tuck wants? Is that the reason I’m still scared to let anything happen between us? Or is it something else now?
Maybe I’m not afraid that he cares too little anymore. Maybe I’m afraid that he cares too much. Maybe I’m afraid that he can make me care about him that much, too. Maybe I’m afraid that’s already happened …
“Well, what else can I do?” Tuck continues. “Sure as hell can’t get you off my mind. Sure as hell don’t want to. I’d rather keep waiting for you than be with anyone else.”
Tuck’s words echo loudly in my head as sleep finally pulls me under.
30
OLIVIA
By Friday, I’m feeling fully recovered.
Tuck stayed with me until Summer came home Tuesday evening.
Throughout all of Tuesday, he kept teasing me about how, in my delirium, I imagined him feeding me gourmet, homemade soup from a recipe his grandmother handed down to him.
“Here’s your artisanal water,” he’d tell me, handing me a glass. “I’ve infused it with a secret blend of minerals and vitamins that my great-half-uncle Maurice taught me.”
“Here’s your toast,” he’d say. “The bread was grown from a secret strain of wheat that my grandfather smuggled out of a top-secret agricultural research facility.”
“If you thought my Grandma’s chicken soup was good,” he’d say, handing me a bowl of Campbell’s straight from the microwave, “wait until you taste my great-grandmother’s ex-husband’s cousin’s vegetable soup recipe. You don’t wanna know how much I had to spend on the rare spices the recipe calls for.”
I acted like I hadn’t heard anything he said when he thought I was asleep Monday night. But those words haven’t stopped bouncing around in my head for a second since then.
My mind’s been marinating in them, every word gliding around the grooves of my brain like rivulets of water crawling down the ridges of Tuck’s muscles as he stands under a shower …
I also increasingly find myself thinking of horny similes involving Tuck …
On Friday, something clicks. A realization dawns that sends a mixture of fear and excitement roaring through me.
Friday night, Tuck and the rest of the Black Bears have an away game that they stay overnight for. On Saturday, when they get back, Summer tells me she’s going to visit Hudson and spend the night.
So, I go on a walk around town. Ostensibly to clear my head, but my head does anything but clear. I’m wondering if I’m about to make the right decision. Or if I’m even actually going to go through with what I think I’ve made my mind up to do—am I going to chicken out at the last moment?
Then, I look into the window of Last Word as I’m passing by—and I see Tuck.
Sitting at a table by himself, working on something on his laptop.
With a deep breath and a pulsing sensation in my chest, I decide to take it as a sign.
My fingertips are tingling as I wrap my hand around the door and pull it open. I take the seat across from Tuck. He looks up from his computer, and our gazes lock.
A beat of silence stretches out between us. I’m the one to break it.
