Page 43 of Tangled Up In You
She lifted her arm in a salute and then winced. “Whoops. Rule number two. Sorry.”
Ren skipped back to her bed and launched herself onto it, hitting play again on the remote. Fitz did a terrible job of focusing on the movie, the wall, anything but her, his own thoughts screaming at him that these were not emotions he should be having. The idea of being attracted to Ren was a shock; the idea of being tender toward her was unacceptable. Although it was different, of course, with Mary, Fitz knew his brand of tenderness was fierce. He would move mountains for Mary; would spend his life ensuring that hers was comfortable and safe. Fitz didn’t have room for someone else to worry over. He’d make time for flings; he did not have time for fondness.
The movie ended, and they met at the bathroom sink, standing side by side while they brushed their teeth. Ren made a face in the mirror, eyes crossed, and lip curled goofily.
“You’re weird,” he told her.
“You’re weirder.” She bent, spitting and rinsing, and he went next.
In the dark, he heard her fluffing her pillow and letting out a long, happy sigh. He wondered what today was like for her, whether she’d look back and see it as a turning point the same way he was starting to. He wondered if that moment when he’d caught her in the Screaming Eagle Saloon changed everything for her, too.
“Sunshine?”
She paused a beat before answering, and he heard it, too, how different this new nickname sounded in the dark. How adoring. “Yeah?”
“Your mom’s wrong, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t need your parents to keep you safe. You’re scrappy.”
Her voice sounded bubbly with pride. “I am?”
“Yep.” He rolled over and willed his heart to stop beating so fast. “You can absolutely take care of yourself.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
REN
Ren was up, dressed, and packed before Fitz had even rolled over in bed. She’d slept fitfully, thinking about Mount Rushmore as she closed her eyes, feeling content and excited and grateful. But when she finally managed to succumb to sleep, it wasn’t the faces of four past presidents she saw, it was Gloria on every facet of the monument. Four Glorias, staring down at her in anger and judgment, in sadness and betrayal. It was a twisty dream, and Ren woke tangled in her sheets, sweaty and heart racing.
But even the lingering memory of her mother’s stony face wasn’t enough to ruin Ren’s mood once she swept the curtains open and let in the bright Montana sunshine. She was lying to her parents, traveling across the country with a man she barely knew to see someone who may or may not be her father, she spent yesterday in a biker saloon, and her entire life could be a lie, but somehow Ren was still having more fun than she’d ever had before.
With Fitz.
Fitz, that confusing, guarded, funny, protective, hot softie asleep in the bed over there. Fitz, who’d been trying to get rid of her for the last two days but for a flash last night looked at her like she was something to be treasured. Fitz, who was quickly becoming her favorite part of this trip.
Speaking of the trip…Ren set her backpack by the door and walked over to his bed, lifting his heavy arm and using all her strength to roll him over.
He clung to his pillow. “No.”
“Yes! Adventure awaits!”
“The mountain isn’t going anywhere.”
“That’s right, but we are.” Ren tugged, harder. “Come on! Don’t we have a schedule to keep?”
Grumbling, he slid from the bed and then stood, stretching with a long, rough groan.
Ren’s gaze shot to the ceiling, where there was plaster and paint and texture and so very many things to examine that weren’t Fitz’s body. It was only once he was safely sealed in the bathroom with the shower running that Ren let herself think about the slice of torso she’d seen for only a second—how warm and hard it looked, about Fitz’s legs in his basketball shorts, so long and muscular and tan—and about how the photos in the bathroom at the Screaming Eagle didn’t look half as good as she imagined he would.
Not that she would ever see him naked.
Not that she wanted to see him naked.
Blowing out a breath, she sat down on her bed and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Maybe Gloria was right about a few things, because before Ren started breaking all these rules, she’d never spent much time at all contemplating naked men, and here she was, wondering if she’d ever stop thinking about them.
Or one specific man, at least.