Page 77 of The Trouble with Flings

“Maybe,” I say. It wasn’t, but it is now.

When the river comes into view, the briny scent cuts through the crispness. We make our way to the esplanade and walk along the waterfront, the river dappled by moonlight.

We walk for a while before stopping at the railing. Jennifer leans her forearms on it, gazing out at the river moving below us, a blur of lights shimmering on the opposite shore. Moonlight reflects in her eyes, and she has the most peaceful expression. I want to memorize this moment, and I pull out my phone.

She glances over and sees me holding up my phone. “Fitz.”

“Listen, Stone, you could wake up tomorrow in a full sweat, overthinking every minute of the time we spent together today, and kick me to the curb. That’s your right, and I’m pretty sure it’s how you’re wired.” Which can’t be easy. “Given that, I think you can grant me a few pictures.”

Her brows knit. “I’m not going to—”

I press my lips to hers, silencing her. “We’re not making promises we can’t keep,” I say softly. “You’ve got months of hormones ahead of you, and I didn’t miss your mini panic attacks today. And all of that is okay. I know what we are, even if you can’t see it clearly yet. One day you will. Until then, pictures will have to do.”

She holds my gaze, looking a little sad but impressively resilient. Without another word, she nods and slides her arm around my waist, resting her head on my shoulder.

My relief gets caught in the tightening web in my chest as I take the picture, knowing what that concession cost her. I hold my phone up for her to see, and as she studies the picture, I take advantage of the moment to drink her in. The glow of the screen catches her face just right. Even with troubled eyes, distracted by the enormity of our situation and this unstoppable thing between us that she’s valiantly trying to keep at arm’s length, I can’t look away from her.

“That’s not a bad photo,” she admits.

I glance at the picture. She’s gorgeous in it, of course, and it still doesn’t do her justice.

Nothing does.

“It’s beautiful, wild girl.”

She goes quiet, her gaze returning to the water. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

“Neither did I,” I say honestly. “I guess you bring it out in me.”

She tilts her face up, the cool air flushing her cheeks, her skeptical eyes holding mine. “Is that true?”

“As true as our little bean,” I say, and then I kiss her.

I’m nowhere near ready for the night to end when we get back to her building. I walk her upstairs, fighting my need to leave as she unlocks her apartment door. She pushes it open, and as she steps inside, I take her hand, stopping her.

She turns, and it takes a second before understanding dawns on her. Her smile falters. “You’re not coming in?”

I shake my head, my jaw tightening against the part of me that would very much like to follow her inside and never leave. But earning her trust is paramount to my every other desire. “Not tonight.”

“Why? Was it because of what you said at the river about me overthinking?”

The slight edge in her voice has me struggling to keep my resolve. “No. We said we’d take this slow, and we’re too important, you’re too important, to rush it.”

She nods and looks down at her keys, but not before I see a flash of vulnerability in her eyes.

“Come here, wild girl.” I draw her closer, aching at the disappointment she’s not quite concealing, and the courage resonating beneath it. “I had a fantastic day with you. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You mean for boring you with errands?” she asks with a touch of snark, not quite reaching Jennifer Stone snark.

“How can you even joke about that when you know my affinity for laundry?”

She smiles. “You are a little weird in that way.”

“I’ll give you weird,” I tease, and lower my smiling lips to hers, kissing her slowly and passionately.

She makes a greedy sound between a moan and a whimper that I feel traveling down my spine. I take the kiss deeper, wanting her to feel how much I desire her, and she makes the sexiest, neediest sounds, each one chipping away at my resolve.

When she goes up onto her toes, her eagerness wrecks me, unraveling my restraint, unleashing everything I’ve been locking down since waking up with her in my arms. I bury my hands in her hair, kissing her harder, more demandingly. She responds with everything she’s been holding back. Our hands roam, our passion intensifying. Her fingers twist into the front of my jacket, which, I realize with immense pleasure, I’ve come to anticipate almost as much as when her body melts into mine, as it is now.