Page 69 of The Clinch
Eden glances between Leo and me. “You two are upstairs,” she says, like she’s stating the weather. “The room across from the master. Leo knows.”
She looks at me for a beat, checking in.
I shrug and follow Leo, who’s already gathered our bags. When we step into the room, he jerks his chin toward the bathroom. “Door sticks.”
His bag lands by the dresser. The windows are open, sheer curtains lifting with the breeze, the house still audible below us—laughter, footsteps, glass against glass.
He leaves his phone on the nightstand closest to the door. “I’ll take this side.” Then he steps back so smoothly it feels deliberate.
The door stays open. The noise of the house carries up the stairs.
The bed is made for two.
And he’s already given me space.
Like he knows I’ll come to him eventually.
Fuck.
16
INSIDE DISTANCE (LEO)
The July sun hits hard on Fire Island.
Liz is on her stomach beside me, headphones in, one knee bent, toes digging into the sand. Her hair is twisted up, a few pieces loose at her neck. The light deepens the gold in her skin.
Her thigh shifts, just enough for the tattoo to show. Wings inked near the curve of muscle, half-hidden by sand. Up close, it isn’t feathers. It’s motion—lines made for acceleration. Speed and survival.
I stare at it for a second, then force myself to look away.
She looks relaxed, like last night left no mark.
As if she didn’t drift into me in her sleep—leg thrown over my calf, hand on my stomach, taking space she’d never allow herself awake. Barely breathing, I let the warmth of her settle. One strand of hair fell across her cheek, and I moved it with the lightest touch, then went still, waiting for her to wake.
For a few brutal hours, she fit against me like she belonged there.
When the first thin light came through the curtains, her eyes snapped open, found my arm, her hand, our legs tangled. Shewas gone before she was fully awake, sheet pulling after her.“Sorry,” she whispered, rebuilding the distance.
I stayed exactly where she left me, hands fisted, because if I touched her then, she’d have felt it as pressure.
As a cage.
So I didn’t.
I roll onto my stomach now, careful not to brush against her. The restraint is a choice.
It’s also torture.
Late-afternoon heat presses down. The sun slants, turning the water into hammered glass. Around us, the crew is scattered, but I’m only aware of her.
Liz’s shoulder shifts. She can feel me there. She doesn’t look up.
Good. If she does, I’ll do something stupid.
A shadow falls across my towel. A bottle of sunscreen thumps down near my hip.
I crack one eye open.
