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“My girlfriend’supstairs.”
“It could be oursecret.”
Her meaning is clear, but I’m not tempted. There’s no woman in this hotel, in the entire Vineyard, or hell, in Manhattan, who could draw my attention rightnow.
None who could look like Daisy did today, her hair blowing in the breeze as she managed the photography shoot, out of her element yet so wholly committed it didn’t faze her. Or in the dining room, easily charming the Vanes and their friends on the far side of the table, catching my eye once in a while for a shared smile that made me want to meet her beneath the table and prompt her to tell me exactly what she’d beenthinking.
“We don’t keep secrets from one another,” I say at last. “We never have and neverwill.”
The woman sighs, the intent behind her gaze softening a little. “That soundsnice.”
With a tight smile, I go back to my reading, and shedeparts.
There’s only one problem. I feel as though I’m keeping a secret rightnow.
I’ve always liked spending time with Daisy. She’s intelligent and interesting and challenging, but today felt different. This whole damn week has beendifferent.
Feelings are a stupid thing. When you’re not twenty anymore, you’re not ruled by them, or you shouldn’tbe.
But these past days have been changing how I look ather.
“It's better to be the one whose love is unreturned than the one who'sindifferent.”
Since she said those words, they've lingered in mymind.
The possibility of love that doesn’t wound and scar is so tempting I can’t forgetit.
She caught me off guard today, waiting until there was no audience to brush her lips over mine. I wanted to slip the black straps off her shoulders and lower my lips to the skin there, to see if she’d offer more sweet words I never askedfor.
Knowing she’s upstairs, I want to joinher.
It’s why Idon’t.
If she sits next to me on that couch, our knees and shoulders brushing, there’s no way I won’t make amove.
I want her smart mouth, her soft curves, her incomparableattention.
Instead, I pore over more work, reviewing documents for the tech company I want to fund. They’d be perfect—high risk, high reward. It’s how Iroll.
Remembering Daisy’s thoughtfulness, her willingness to do things for her business that aren’t directly linked to her immediate profits, I revisit Holt’s proposal, giving it more than my cursory scan from two weeksago.
My read confirms my initial suspicion—it’s not in the same league. Healthcare services are a slow build, requiring significant infrastructure, tons of legal agreements, not to mentioninsurance.
It’s a good idea, but there are gaps that would take months if not years to address. More venture funding isn’t the right fit, at least not fromus.
When I finally go upstairs, there’s a light on by the door. I shut the door quietly, drop my jacket on the chair. The Xbox is set out on the carpet, ready to use, and guilt washes overme.
Daisy’s asleep in the middle of the bed. Her makeup is gone, her face smooth and untouched. Dark lashes brush her cheeks. Her hair is a silky slide over one shoulder. She’s wearing a T-shirt and I-don’t-know-what beneath the sheet pulled up to her chest. Her lips part as if feeling myattention.
It’s less dangerous to study her when she’s asleep. There’s less chance she’ll read something on my face, or in my words, reflect it back in a way I can’t control or manage or anticipate. Less chance she'll see something I haven't let myself see, oracknowledge.
I don’t trust people easily, but I trust her. I’ve let her in—deeper than sheknows.
My gaze doesn’t move from her as I strip off my clothes, laying each piece across the upholstered chair before reaching for pajamabottoms.
I crawl in next to her, my body barely fitting in the scant third of a bed remaining given her claim of thecenter.
What if she was mine?The thought slips into mybrain.
