Page 55 of The Sweet Spot

Whit.

Don't disappear on me.

There. That's more like it. It's honest, but possibly a little too needy for a guy who has approximately twenty minutes to make a flight.

“Is this why you told me we'd figure things out tomorrow? Were you always planning on leaving me?”

Her voice.

I turn and lose my fucking breath entirely.

Whit's leaning against the doorway wearing a white hotel robe with the belt loosely tied around her waist, still looking a little love drunk. Her hair is down but messy and she's looking at me with this surreal, relaxed smile.

What did I do to deserve this?

“Fuck, I want you so bad,” I say before I can stop myself.

I have a plane to catch.

I have a plane to catch.

The warning plays in my head, but I ignore it, heading straight for her.

Cupping her cheeks, I pull her in for another kiss.

I have a plane to catch.

“I'm sorry,” I say, pulling away from the kiss. Her eyes are still closed, and shit, all I want to do is throw her over my shoulder and take her back into that bedroom. “I didn't want to wake you,” I say, putting the pen down, “but I've got to be on a plane soon, and I still need to grab my gear from home.”

“I remember.” I take a step back as she leans her head against the frame. “Cincinnati first, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, but I'll be back in Charlotte in two weeks. Maybe we could see each other then?”

With her eyes still closed, she shakes her head. “Can't. I'm leaving then,” she replies almost dreamily. “Heading to Tennessee after Wyndham.” Her eyes open, and that soft smile starts to fade. “Missouri after that, then Oregon...”

The words hang between us, the silent implication that we're both too busy for whatever this is between us.

“I want to date you,” I blurt out. “Ugh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like that.” I take a beat, compose myself, and start again. “What I meant to say was, I really like you, Whit.”

“I like you too.”

Did she hear my heart explode? Because it did. I'm surprised I'm still standing upright.

“But-”

The second that word falls out of her beautiful, plump lips, I want to stuff it back in her mouth and list all the reasons she's wrong with whatever she's about to say.

I don't, though. I just bite my tongue and let her continue.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Wait, what?

“Do what? You?”

“Date me,” she clarifies, completely unbothered by my clumsiness. “Last night around the sixth orgasm, I gained some clarity.”