Oops, I've Fallen

“I wouldn’t envision it helping,” I answer with a knowing smile, but that’s quickly replaced by a grimace as my own weird relationship vices start to filter into my head. And for some insane reason, I find myself openly telling him about them. “Although, I don’t have any room to talk, Ryan. My dating and relationship track record isn’t good either. And I wasn’t evaluating prospective boyfriends by their place on the success ladder. In fact, I limited my pool to the ones I already knew were nothing but trouble. It’s like I kept wanting every relationship to be doomed from the start.”

“And what about now?” he asks. “With me?”

His question makes my breath catch in my lungs. But for the first time in my whole life, I put myself out there and tell him what I’m actually thinking, what I’m really truly feeling.

“I think… I mean, I’m pretty sure—” I shake my head and try again. “I find myself completely infatuated with you too, Ryan.” Holy hell. This is so not like me, going out on a limb like this and announcing my feelings so plainly. There’s a part of me that wants to stop time and shove those words back down my throat, but it’s too late to go back.

“You are?” he asks, his face glowing like the moon in the sky.

“Yeah,” I answer, but my voice is so small. The strength of my truth makes me feel like I’m standing on a ledge. “I am. You’re special. Like, pretty much one of a kind. And I don’t know how it’d be possible for anything to change my mind about that.”

His gaze searches mine, and his eyes are too intense, too deep, too much.

“Gah. Don’t make a big thing of it.” The words fly from my lips, and immediately, I feel my cheeks heat. I throw myself back onto the blanket and shield my face with my hand. “Just forget I said anything.”

His responding chuckles fill the air, and before I know it, he’s lying beside me and pulling my body on top of his.

“Carly, look at me,” he says, and I shake my head, still determined to keep my face covered.

He chuckles again. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

Hesitantly, I remove my hand from my face, and he’s right there, his nose almost touching mine and his blue eyes staring back at me with the kind of tenderness that makes my heart do cartwheels inside my chest.

“You’re not the only one who’s metaphorically searching for the Life Alert button,” he whispers, and the humor of his Sunny Creek-themed joke fills me with instant relief, but also makes all of this—the prospect of an us—far more real.

“I’m not gonna lie, Ryan, all of this is kind of scaring the hell out of me,” I admit, my voice barely rising over the sounds of the sea.

Thankfully, he chuckles. “You too?”

I nod, a smile kissing the corners of my lips. “It’s just a lot. And very unexpected, you know?”

“Yeah. I do know. I live in New York, and you live in Colorado. And we’re currently hiding this from our parents,” he states, naming most of the pertinent details that give me fear. “I mean, things between us come with some serious obstacles.”

I snort. “We’re quite the pair, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” he agrees. “But we’re going to have to tell them soon, you know.”

Instantly, the line of conversation starts to make me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I’m not quite ready to confront all of these things. I don’t know when I will be, but I know with certainty I can’t do it right now. I’m barely admitting my feelings to myself, let alone the Two Stooges of Sunny Creek.

“I know.” I nod in agreement, brushing my nose against his. “But I don’t think we should get bogged down in those details tonight.”

“Then what do you think we should do?”

“Enjoy tonight. Enjoy each other. Eat sweet treats. Have lots and lots and lots of sex.”

His mouth hitches up at the corners. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. That sounds like a brilliant plan.” He presses a kiss to my lips. “But what kind of girl does Carly want to be?” he asks and pointedly squeezes my ass with both of his big hands. “A good girl or bad girl?”

“Uh…both?”

“Both?” he retorts, and a devilish smirk lifts his lips. “Hmm, that’s an interesting choice.”

“Well, I’m an interesting gal,” I respond, pressing a smacking kiss to his lips before pushing myself off his chest and to my feet. “So, back to the room?” I ask, holding out a hand toward him.

But to my surprise, he shakes his head. “Good girls get fucked in the hotel room.”

“And bad girls?”

“Let me show you.” He licks his lips, rises to his feet, and before I can even question anything, with two strong hands, he yanks down my skirt, rupturing a hole in its seam in the process, tears my panties straight in half, and proceeds to give the same treatment to my blouse—ripping it apart in a way that forces every button to go loose on a pop-pop-pop.