Page 97 of Long Story Short

“Tyson,” I start, my voice coming out more hoarse than I was expecting it to be.

He stills. He doesn’t pull away or let go, but he freezes as he waits for me to keep going. It’s new, to have someone listen to me like this. It’s new to have someone be up-front about their feelings and what they want. I’m used to guessing, but with Tyson, he doesn’t leave me guessing at all.

While he waits for me to answer, he trails his lips along my neck. I tilt my head slightly, giving him better access without even realizing I’m doing it.

“Feeling this way, especially this soon, is new to me,” I admit softly.

“I know,” he mutters against my skin. “It’s new for me too.”

He shifts just enough so I can turn in his arms. The water now hits my back as I look up at him. Even in the new position, his hands don’t leave me. They settle on my waist, his touch solid and sure, something that makes me feel at peace.

“We don’t have to label anything,” he continues, his voice low and calm in a way that immediately eases something inside me. “Let’s just be here, feeling it all, not fighting it, together. We can just…be.”

Just be.

I don’t think either of us are people who are used to that. It seems impossible to do, to not overthink this, but now that he’s standing in front of me, looking at me like he’s never been so confident of something in his life, it doesn’t feel impossible at all.

My gaze drifts over his face, wanting to commit every single detail to memory. There’s a softness and tenderness in the way he looks at me that goes right through me—straight to my heart.

He cups my face, his thumbs dancing along my cheekbones, sending shivers down my spine.

It isn’t just his touch that does things to me.

It’s everything.

It’s just him.

The way he pays attention.

The way he takes care of me.

The way things are easy—making me not want to overthink things for once in my life.

My chest tightens, that same pressure building again, but this time, there’s not a single part of me that wants to push it away.

I let myself feel it.

I want shampoo and conditioner at his house.

I want him in my space.

I don’t want to run from this or try to cut it off before he has the power to hurt me.

I want to finish this book with him at my side and then figure out what happens after that.

I want a lot of things when it comes to Tyson Bishop.

And it finally hits me—I have feelings for him.

Not just attraction and not just chemistry.

They’re deeper than that—far deeper.

Maybe if it were anyone else, the realization would scare me. It should scare me, but it doesn’t. If it wasn’t him, I’d pull away and protect myself.

But because it’s him, I step closer.

I slide my hand up his chest and rest it over his heart as I meet his gaze. This entire time, he’s given me the time to process my thoughts, to sit with them, before saying anything else. I appreciate his patience beyond words.