Page 52 of Tangled Up In You

“Why do you work so hard to insist you’re not a nice guy?”

“Because I’m not a nice guy. I’m just—” He exhaled a frustrated breath, looking over at her and then away. “You want me to be something I’m not.”

“I don’t want you to be anything,” she said, bewildered. “I like who you are.”

“You barely know me.”

“I like what I’ve seen so far.” Her shoulders hitched up in a tiny shrug. “I only want to know you better.”

“Well, don’t try too hard. We’re almost to Nashville.”

Ren stared at his profile and then looked out at the fountain, at a loss. “Okay. I won’t.”

Fitz stood. “Should we head back? We have a long day of driving tomorrow.”

“Sure.” An ache passed through her. It was whiplash with him. Ren didn’t know what she’d done to make him want to wedge all this distance between them, but she knew better than to ask him about it.

He finished off his ice cream and tossed the wrapper into a garbage can as they passed. It was dark out; in a city like this, Ren could barely see any stars. All of a sudden, she missed them desperately.

She dug around inside, searching for something else to think about. His words echoed back to her. “Would you like me to do some of the driving tomorrow?”

Beside her, Fitz laughed and maneuvered around a couple of kids with skateboards. “No, it’s fine.”

“I know it can be draining,” she said. “I really don’t mind.”

“Are you even legal behind the wheel?”

“Excuse me.” She went to playfully shove him before remembering that the mood wasn’t in that place anymore. “I grew up in Idaho. State of the best drivers in the nation.”

“Interesting.” He slid an amused smile her way. “I’ve never heard that statistic.”

“I got my driver’s license when I was sixteen, I’ll have you know, and am a very capable operator of motor vehicles of all kinds, including stick shifts.”

“No one drives Max but me.” Fitz reached over and tweaked her ear, and she had to fight the urge to lean into the contact.

“I would take very good care of him, I promise.”

Fitz took a long look at her. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.”

Their hands bumped as they walked through the hotel lobby, and Ren could feel the tension brewing between them, feel her own relief that whatever friction had risen seemed to have dissolved infinitesimally. Maybe it was her turn to initiate contact. Maybe he’d just been waiting for her to reciprocate. With her heart hammering in her windpipe, she stepped closer to him in the elevator, near enough to press her arm to his.

But Fitz moved away, a big side step, and began hacking into his fist, racked by a sudden coughing bout.

Surprised, Ren carefully patted his back. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, eyes watering as he croaked out, “Good.” He pointed to his throat, letting out a wheezing “Just a—dust or—something.” Fitz recovered with a clearing of his throat before shoving his hand into the pocket of his jeans and leaning against the far side of the elevator car.

Ren’s stomach flipped over. Oh God. Had he just faked a coughing fit? Had he been avoiding physical contact with her? Silence yawned between them, and in that mortifying moment of understanding, Ren wished the elevator would plummet to the basement and put her out of her misery. Every time he’d touched her before had been in public. Of course it had. He had simply been getting her attention with a nudge to her side or keeping track of her with his arm around her shoulders. Like one would with a pet or an errant child.

Mercifully, the elevator doors opened on their floor, and Fitz hesitated while Ren rushed out. The walk down the hall with him only a few steps behind her felt like a silent death march. At the door, Ren swiped her key and walked inside.

“Still only one bed,” she blurted, and it landed in a deep pool of silence. She immediately wanted to hit rewind or—even better—to vanish into thin air. “I’m gonna—” She pointed over her shoulder, grabbing her backpack and disappearing into the bathroom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

FITZ