Pazza barks at him and cocks her head.
He grins down at her, scratching her ear when she trots his way and drops to her haunches at his feet. “And Pazza, of course.”
I stare at him, as my heart bangs against my ribs, an inmate shaking its prison bars.
Let me out. Please. Just this once.
Drawing in a jagged breath, I spin away and beeline it for the back door. As I throw open the door, I whistle and snap my fingers in signal to Pazza. She bolts past me, jumping immediately at some insect that dances across the grass.
My throat tightens as I hug my arms around my middle. I hear the quiet rustle of Ren’s steps, smell that clean, spicy scent that warms his skin.
His hand gently grips my elbow. “Are you okay?”
I nod without meeting his eyes, feigning concentration on Pazza. “I’m fine. I just needed some fresh air. Thank you for checking the house for me.”
He steps closer. “I was happy to do it, Frankie.”
My pulse thunders in my ears. It feels like my heart’s rattling my ribs loose, it’s pounding so violently inside my chest. If he touches me any further, I won’t be strong enough to resist Ren anymore. I’ll throw myself at him, beg him to give me everything for just a little while. To give me for now until he can have forever with her.
Her.
God, my blood boils, and a kick of anger surges through my veins. I hate her. I’m wildly jealous of this woman, who I can only assume is entirely, completely worthy of him. And I know, I trust that she is, because I trust Ren. He’s measured and thoughtful. He has his head screwed on straight. He values the right things.
She’s probably an understated beauty, because Ren’s too wholesome to need a knockout—he only asks for beauty from within. She’s one of those rescue-shelter volunteers who bakes perfectly circular chocolate chip cookies and makes friends with all the grandmas on the block. She wants three kids—two boys and a girl—and she loves to scrapbook. She also reads those criminally sex-free romances and is the least erotically adventurous woman on the planet—
Whoa, there, Francesca. Getting a little nasty, aren’t we?
Well, yes. My thoughts have turned uncharitable. That’s my jealousy talking. That’s my covetous envy. A fierce possessiveness for someone I have no right to. An unwarranted, unfair animosity toward a woman I should be happy for.
“I want to apologize, Frankie. About last night.”
I spin, tugged out of my thoughts. “What?”
Ren frowns up at me from his crouched position, petting Pazza. “I don’t remember everything, because that headache was…unearthly painful, and I’d taken one of the pills for it that Amy prescribed me, but I have a vague memory of being very into hand holding.”
Heat rushes through me as I bite my lip. God, you’d think we’d made out, the way thinking of it affects me. “You were.”
He grimaces. “It was unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.” His face transforms to a wide smile as Pazza licks his face, perching her muddy paws on his knees.
“Pazza, down.” My voice is sharp, and she drops immediately, jogging over to me.
Ren slowly stands with a look of wariness on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Just Pazza. Sh-she’ll ruin your slacks.” I point at the grass and mud staining his knees.
He smiles and shrugs. “I don’t care, Frankie. I can do my laundry. I’m a spot-treating wizard, actually.”
“Of course, you are.” I can’t get a stain out of my clothes to save my life.
Why do all these little things about him add up to something so perfectly right to me? Why does he have to be so wonderful?
Why do I have to be so fucked up?
“Frankie.” Ren closes the distance between us, sending the heat of his body pouring over me. “Why do I feel like you’re avoiding the topic?”
“What topic?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Of last night.”
“Oh. Well. I mean, you weren’t yourself.” I wave a hand, taking a step back. The breeze sends his warm spiciness my way. He smells too tempting. “Non compos mentis and all. It’s fine.”
The line etched between his brows deepens. “Why do you seem upset, then? Tell me what’s wrong, please, Frankie.” Ren’s eyes search mine.
“I can’t.”
I can’t feel this way about you. I can’t want you. I can’t do this.
Something in his face changes, as his gaze dances over my features, like he’s read my mind.
“Can I ask you something?” he says softly.
No.
Nothing good’s going to come of it, I can feel it already. He misinterprets my silence as assent.
“Was there…” Ren swallows, raking a hand through his hair. “What did you say last night when I was falling asleep? It’s on the edge of my memory. But I can’t recall it.”
My heart thunders. Shit. Shit. “Um…nothing. I-it was nothing.”
His eyes search mine. “Is it nothing because you didn’t mean it? Or is it nothing because you’re not sure you want me to have heard it, if I did hear it, that is?”
Roaring fills my ears. I lick my lips, clasp my shaking hands together. “I’m not sure,” I whisper.
Ren steps closer. I search his eyes in confusion. If he heard me, if he knows I’m torn up over him, what then?
Holding my eyes, he brushes the back of his hand against mine, sending a bolt of electricity surging through my body. “There’s something that I think I should tell you,” he says quietly.
I stare at Ren, fear of the unknown gnawing inside me. I tug my lip between my teeth and bite until I taste the warm coppery tang of blood.
“Frankie.” His voice is urgent. He sweeps his thumb over my lip and tugs it free. The pad of his thumb presses my bite. His eyes hold mine, searching for answers I don’t have. “You hurt yourself.”
I pull away, but he steps with me, fluidly, intuitively, just like the Great Naked Towel Tango. I take a final step back, until I’m flush against the house’s stucco. It pricks my skin, a welcome discomfort. Just the tiniest pain compared to what’s shearing through me.
He heard my confession. He knows I’ve caught feelings for him. And now he’s going to graciously, gently break my fledgling heart. I know it already.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
“Not particularly.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, then sink my fingers into my fidget necklace. I spin the time turner, slip my thumb through the Quidditch goal. “I don’t handle stressful situations well. I get anxious. Overwrought. Histrionic. It’s very Victorian.”
Ren stares at me, a series of emotions flying over his face before I have the faintest chance of identifying even one of them. “Now I know you’re upset, Frankie. You’re making bad, self-deprecating jokes.”
I scowl at him. He stares down at me, his eyes pale and mysterious as the moon behind him.
I glance away. I can’t handle the intensity of his gaze. I stare at his dress shoes, planted wide in the grass. The long line of his legs. Up his solid torso to the hollow of his throat. I close my eyes and remember what he looks like beneath that crisp dress shirt. He has one of those bodies that could be carved in granite. Power wrapped in beauty.