Chapter Twenty

Piper

My heart feels too big for my chest as we sneak away from the crowd, my hand in Tate's. It reminds me of being in college again, slinking away from a party with friends to go make out with a cute guy that I've been making eyes at all night. Everything about tonight has been perfect, every moment with Tate has been like something from a dream. Even in a crowd, it felt like we were the only people there. For Tate to pass on an opportunity to gloat and bask in his triumphs with a speech is unheard of. The idea that he would walk away from it all just for me is enough to make me float two feet above the ground.

By the time we get back to the cabin, we're giggling like school kids. Tate's so excited he drops the key to the door twice, and we tumble through it when he finally manages to get it open. Shutting it behind us, he turns me around, backing me against the wood. His hands are everywhere at once, leaving an electric tingle along every inch of my skin that he touches. There isn't any pretense this time, no mention of needing to keep up appearances or jokes about practicing. There is only our desire for each other, and it makes me want him that much more.

His hand slides up along my thigh, bunching up the fabric of my dress, pushing it up against my hips. Without preamble, his fingertips skim between my legs, pushing aside my underwear and teasing my entrance in light circles before sliding inside me.

"So wet," he says, capturing my lips.

I gasp into his mouth, instinctively bucking my hips toward his touch as he crowds my body back against the door. He quickly grows frustrated with the restriction of the fabric, and removes his hand, reaching for the elastic waistband and tugging my panties down my legs.

"Wait," I huff out with a laugh, as they become tangled around the straps of my heels. Reaching down for the buckle, he grabs my wrist and stops me.

"No. Leave the shoes on again. I like it that way," Tate growls, bending down to carefully remove the tiny article of nude lace from my ankles, slipping it over each heel, while holding a steadying hand against my pelvis so I don't fall. He kisses his way back up my body, dragging his lips and tongue along my calf and up toward my thigh, nibbling at the bit of skin along my hip bone before standing up again. After hitching my dress over my hips, he grabs for my wrist, and pins my arm back against the door, roughly sliding his hand between my legs, muscling them apart to abruptly slip two fingers inside of me and rest his palm against my clit.

His mouth finds my throat, scraping his teeth against my skin, sucking at it hard enough that I'm going to have to go into town to buy a scarf tomorrow. He isn't gentle with his hand either, working at me with enough force that I can hear my own wetness under the sound of our ragged breathing. I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't so close to losing control, all of my thoughts turning to the tightness in my stomach, the buzz at the base of my spine, and the oncoming waves of pleasure. I barely have time to let out a moan before my peak grips me, my fingernails digging into Tate's shoulder for stability as I clench around his hand.

"That was too fast. I guess we'll have to try again," he teases.

I can feel his smile against my skin as he wipes his hand on my thigh, the other not leaving my wrist. His leg comes between mine, shamelessly pressing into my sex with his muscular thigh, and I have a faraway thought about how we'll need to get these pants dry cleaned. Before I can mention it, his free hand comes to the top of my dress, dipping into the bodice and roughly pulling my breast out into the air. He bends his head to it, circling my nipple with his tongue, and through his pants I feel his cock twitch against my leg. Something in him snaps, and he turns me around to face the door, running his hand along my ass.

"Piper," he groans, bringing his mouth to my ear. "Can I fuck you like this, please?"

I arch my back as much as I can, knowing the view will knock him dead right then and there. "If you don't, I think I'm going to die. Or kill you. Whichever comes first."

"I don't have a condom on me, and I don't want to let you go."

I nip at his jawline. "I'm on birth control. If you say you're clean, I trust you."

He laughs, and I hear him fumbling with his belt, his pants falling to the ground in a heap. "I can't wait to get inside you bare. I've never done that before. You're my first, Piper. For just about everything."

I barely have time to brace myself against the door before he slides his cock into me with a snarl. I understand now why I had to leave the shoes on. The angle never would've worked otherwise. Leave it to Tate to be thinking about applied physics at a time like this.

His hands grab at what feels like everything at once, reaching for my hair, my neck, my shoulders, before fisting in the fabric of my dress and then finally settling onto my hips, pulling me back against him with each stroke forward. It's a struggle to stay upright, my hands braced against the door. I hope to god that no one is walking outside, certain that they would hear the rhythmic dull thuds of our bodies against the wood. Not to mention the sounds we're both making from our own mouths.

Tate breaks his hold on my hips for just a moment, grabbing for one of my wrists and dragging my hand down between my legs. I understand the implication immediately, and let my fingertips circle my swollen clit. This must do something for Tate, as he starts chanting my name over and over to himself, and I know from the irregularity of his strokes that he isn't going to be long now.

"Don't stop," I choke out. "I'm so close."

"Not on your life," he struggles to reply, his fingers digging into my hips so deeply that I'm worried they'll bruise. Focusing on the sensations, I feel a second orgasm crest over me, my eyes slamming shut as I shudder against his body with each stroke. He finishes after me with a heavy exhale, before collapsing limply against me with a weak laugh. We stay like that for a moment, before he pulls away, offering me an arm as I slip off my shoes. Then he helps me unzip my dress, leading me to the bathroom and giving me first dibs on cleaning up.

When I return, he's lying in bed naked, half in and half out of the blankets, one leg kicked out of the material. Neglecting to put on clothes, I slide in between the sheets next to him. He looks so human and vulnerable, his hair mussed, his mouth pink and kiss-swollen. There's a faraway look in his eyes, a soft smile lingering on his lips. He stares at the ceiling above us in the dark, composing his thoughts, and I wait for him to say the words that I've been feeling all night, already wondering how I'm going to respond in kind.

"God, we're getting so good at this," he finally sighs, rolling onto his side to face me. "I really think we have everyone fooled. Even Fallon."

The words are so unexpected that they roll over me slowly, settling heavy onto my chest. I had thought he was going to tell me that he loved me. Instead, he reminded me of the precarity of my situation, and of exactly who he is.

A grown man who's scared of real relationships and doesn't even believe in love.

Tears pop into my eyes at his eager look. "Piper? Don't you agree?"

I swallow hard, fighting an oncoming wave of nausea. I've become so flushed that the tips of my ears burn. There's a hundred words I want to say at once. Instead, I croak out a single syllable.

"Yup. Everyone's totally fooled." Especially me.

Tate pauses, taking in the look on my face. He reaches out to touch my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear, and I flinch away. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" The dam inside of me bursts, and my thoughts start to flood out of my mouth with little concern now for the consequences. "Somewhere along the line, I stopped practicing and moved into feeling. That's why we're getting good at this. I thought you might be feeling, too. My mistake. I forgot who I was dealing with. Tate Story. The guy who only believes in logic and algorithms. I'm an idiot. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep faking it with you. I feel ishy when I should feel euphoric." I don't like this version of him. The novelty was fun for a while. Now, I'm over it.

Being near him right now has become repulsive. I sit up, pushing the sheets away from me and drawing my knees against my chest, inching as far away from him as I can. He reaches toward me again and I push his hand away, trying to ignore the wounded look in his eyes as I do.

"What does that mean?" he asks dumbly, stunned by my outburst. Of course he didn't see any of this coming. The man can program anything, but normal human behavior eludes him.

"It means you either want a relationship with me, and all of the benefits that entails, or you don't and you lose … everything we have."

I try not to think about the fact that I would lose it all too, in exchange for keeping my dignity intact.

"I have feelings. I mean… as many as I can muster. So why mess with perfection? This works," he insists. "I can handle what we have without getting freaked out." It's weaker than usual, without his usual confidence, unable to meet my gaze.

"This is only working for you. Giving you the girlfriend experience when you don't really want to be my boyfriend hurts my heart." Having this conversation while naked is starting to feel ridiculous, and I scramble out of bed, searching for a shirt to pull over my head. My fingers find my discarded sweatshirt from earlier this afternoon, and I slip it on in a rush. Tate starts to open his mouth in protest, and I shake my head. "I don't care what you believe. If we don't want the same things, we have to stop with all of this."

"How much is all? Are you quitting?" There's an edge of panic to his question as he watches me shimmy into a pair of leggings. He couldn't make it a week if I quit. He knows it as well as I do. "I don't get it. We're friends. That's even better than a relationship, because then we never have to lose each other. Friendship can last forever, in ways that relationships can't. I don't understand why you can't see this from my side."

And then when he finds the perfect girl for him… the one … then I just get tossed aside like chopped liver because we didn't have a commitment? No.

"Nope. Not with me. Not if you can't respect my feelings. Not if you don't think you can ever feel the same way." His parents really must have done a number on him. There's some stuff going on here that a trained therapist will need to unpack, and that I'm unqualified to touch. For now, I need distance. I start to scan the room for my sneakers. "I'm not quitting. I wouldn't leave you high and dry. God knows you couldn't survive without me. Things will just go back to being how they were before. Mostly."

If I didn't feel like the ground was shifting beneath my feet, I might enjoy his panic-stricken expression more. "What's mostly mean?"

"Boundaries," I huff, shoving my foot into a sneaker, pulling the back up and over my heel with my index finger so hard I worry that I'm going to break a nail. If we had had boundaries to begin with, maybe I wouldn't even be here. I could be lounging on a couch in Minneapolis with Elijah, binge watching something mindless on Netflix and eating pizza. "I haven't been good at setting them or keeping them. So more boundaries. No late night pop ins. No calling me all hours of the day and night. And my work day is nine to five."

"That's it?" Tate is trying valiantly to sound cool about this, but it isn't working. Instead, he sounds like someone just dropped him in the middle of the Sahara Desert with a compass and nothing else.

"We may have to add more boundaries as we go along. You have a tendency to find limits and push your way through them. But for now? Yes."

I stare at him. That's right, bucko. Feel uncomfortable. Regret your reckless choices. Understand the depths of how badly you've fucked up.

His tragic expression almost makes me feel sorry for him. "And there's nothing that can change your mind?"

I sling my hair into a rough bun, smoothing down my sweatshirt and double checking my appearance before grabbing my phone and wallet. "There is, but I think we've already established that you're not going to give it to me."

"Oh. That." Tate smiles weakly, looking utterly defeated sitting among the pillows.

"Yeah," I reach for the door, hand resting on the knob for a moment. Once I leave this room, things will change. I don't know if it will be for the better or worse, but I know that I can't go on doing things as they are now. "I'm gonna go for a walk."

"You're coming back right?"

Physically? Sure. Emotionally? Not a chance.

"Eventually," I say, stepping out into the night and closing the door behind me, leaving Tate and my chances at happiness behind in the dark.?

I'm crumbling, disintegrating under the weight of unspoken truths and silenced desires. Every step away from Tate tears at the fragile threads that tethered me to the hope of us—of more. The Northern Minnesota air is crisp, but it's nothing compared to the chill settling over my heart. As the distance between us stretches, I grapple with the raw, gnawing ache of a heart bruising under the strain of unrequited love. This retreat isn't just from the cabin, but more like a retreat from the dream of what could have been—a retreat from the warmth of his nearness, from the intoxicating allure of his complex, unreachable soul.

Tonight, I mourn the death of a fantasy, the dissolution of a mirage that I'd clung to more fervently than I'd admitted. I'm an idiot who let herself fall when she knew the pain of the consequences.

The realization stings, sharp and unforgiving: I've changed, irrevocably, shaped and scarred by a love that was never truly mine to claim.