Page 142 of Ten Day Affair

The night air wraps around me like a blanket. Warm. Still. The sound of waves mixes with my breathing.

Before I realize it, my eyes drift closed.

A soft thud jolts me awake. My neck screams in protest as I lift my head from where it's been twisted against the lounger's slats.

The sky overhead is pale gray, caught between night and dawn, and for a split second, I don't know where the hell I am.

My shirt is wrinkled, clinging to my chest with dampness from the humid air. The tide has crept closer while I slept, waves lapping at sand that was dry when I dozed off.

Movement catches my eye through the early light. Sam steps onto her deck, and my pulse kicks like a racehorse out of the gate.

She's dressed for a run. Tight black shorts that hit mid-thigh and a gray sports bra that leaves her midriff bare. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she's got headphones in, completely unaware I'm watching.

Don't look. Give her privacy.

But I can't stop myself. She lifts her arms overhead in a slow stretch, back arching, and blood rushes somewhere it has no business going at dawn after sleeping on a deck chair. Every line of her body is familiar territory I've memorized and tried to forget.

She rolls her shoulders, touches her toes, then jogs down her steps toward the beach. I watch her figure grow smaller as she heads south, carefully avoiding passing in front of my house.

I push myself off the lounger, muscles protesting from the night on the deck. Inside, I strip off my wrinkled shirt and joggers and step into the shower, letting hot water beat against my shoulders. The mirror shows me what lack of sleep and too much thinking look like. It's not pretty.

Twenty minutes later, I'm back outside in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, towel around my neck like I might actually work out instead of just torturing myself by watching for her return.

And there she is, headed back from her run, sweat glistening at her hairline. Her breathing is steady and controlled, but I can see the flush of exertion on her chest and neck. She slows as she hits the sand in front of my place.

This is my moment. Maybe my only one.

I jog down my steps, catching up to her just as she transitions from running to walking. My heart slams against my ribs.

"Mind if I join you for your cooldown?"

She startles, head whipping toward me. Her expression is unreadable behind those clear hazel eyes that used to soften when she looked at me. Now they're guarded, careful.

But she doesn't stop walking. Doesn't tell me to fuck off.

That tiny sliver of grace feels monumental.

We fall into step beside each other, our feet finding the same rhythm in the sand. The silence between us stretches taut, brimming with everything we haven't said. Every step beside her feels like walking on a knife's edge.

She hasn't forgiven me. She hasn't even said my name. But she's letting me walk with her.

The breeze picks up, carrying the scent of salt and something tropical from the dunes. Her ponytail swings with each step, and I remember how that hair felt between my fingers.

Finally, she glances at me. Just once, quick as a hummingbird.

"This doesn't mean anything."

Her voice is steady, matter-of-fact. Like she's stating the weather.

I nod, keeping my voice level.

"Of course."

THIRTY-THREE

Sam

The waves curl against the shore with mechanical precision. In and out, in and out. I focus on that rhythm instead of the man walking beside me.