Page 61 of Badd Baby

"I'm not staying."

"I know. So just…let yourself have the moment, at least. Get through the wedding. And just…be prepared that when you go back to LA, you're gonna be a mess."

I groaned, palming my face. "I'm already a mess—still a mess."

"Like I said, Rune, if it was as good as you say—and you led with 'I'm ruined'—then you're gonna have a hell of a time moving on. If you insist on ignoring your feelings, then you have to be aware of the consequences. You'll be walking away from the best sex of your life, on purpose. Because you're scared."

I shot to my feet. "Fuck you, Linz."

She laughed. "I tell it like it is, babe. Don't shoot the messenger."

"I have to get back," I said. "I don't want him to wake up and think I bolted."

"Which you did?"

"Absolutely. But he doesn't need to know that."

“Good thing you're not looking for a relationship with him, then, because that's not a great place to start things from—lying to him and keeping things from him."

"Good thing," I agreed. "Okay, I’m going back. Thanks for hearing me out and making it that much worse with your shitty advice."

She only laughed again, the traitorous bitch. "Go get him, tiger."

I flipped her off as I left her room.

Back in our room, I unlocked it and eased in as quietly as I could.

Duncan's eyes were open, and laser-focused on me.

Shit.

Chapter Eleven

Duncan

She froze when she saw me awake, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights; the door swung slowly shut, clicking closed behind her.

"How's Lindsey?" I asked.

"Um, fine?" She swallowed hard, otherwise still motionless. "Duncan, I…"

"Told you, I have sisters," I said. "I know girls gotta tell their friends everything."

She relaxed a tiny bit. "I just…"

"Weird that you snuck out to do so, though. Weirder yet that you tried to sneak back in."

"Dunc, I'm—it's…"

"You gonna tell me the truth about what's going on in that head of yours?" I asked.

She didn't answer.

I knew she wouldn't. I felt her tense up when she called me baby, and again when it slipped out of my mouth. I hadn't meant to say it any more than she had. I'm fine chalking it up to the intensity of the moment, but deep down, I know it's more than that.

For her and for me.

I also know she's not about to admit to that—even to herself. I see the writing on the wall. She's scared shitless. She felt the same things I felt, and the second she realized I was asleep, she ran to her friend for commiseration or sympathy or whatever it was she needed. Because she's scared shitless.