I smiled at his affectionate and dismissive remark, letting the subject drop. I wasn’t ready to invite anyone else—not even via discussion—into our lovely slice of heaven pie. Not yet.

The fire was burning low, just coals at this point, embers of red glowing in chalky black cinders. I loved how wood fires smelled, tart and smoky. They reminded me of dessert, s’mores and hot lemon curd baked in a pie iron. My daddy was my Brownie pack leader growing up; he’d taught me all the campfire dessert shortcuts.

“How did you get here, Jess?”

“Pardon?” I’d been lost to my thoughts, desserts and campfires. Now I’d associate wood fires with Duane. This thought made me happy.

I felt him shift behind me, lean up on his elbow. “Did someone drive you?”

“No. I drove. I have…well, I have a car now. It’s a long story.” I frowned, remembering I hadn’t spotted his parked car when I arrived. “By the way, where’s your car? Where’s the Road Runner?”

Duane dithered, his body tensing behind me. At last he cleared his throat and said with a sigh, “I wrecked it.”

I choked on nothing, my eyes bulging, certain I’d heard wrong. “You…you what?”

“I wrecked it, last weekend at The Canyon.”

I twisted in his arms so I could see his face, a rush of alarm making my muscles tense.

I rested my palm on his cheek, needing to touch him, as my eyes moved between his. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.”

I wanted to search his body, see for myself. But then I reminded myself of the sex cartwheels we’d just finished. If he’d been injured then he could hardly have accomplished such a physically demanding activity.

He didn’t look sad or mournful about the car, and his lack of reaction did not compute. “You loved that car.”

His expression didn’t change, not really, but he shrugged. “It’s a good car.”

“Why aren’t you more upset?”

“It’s not a person, Jess. It’s a thing. Things can be fixed. Eventually, maybe, I’ll fix her up.”

“But…that car is awesome. And you never lose.”

“I wasn’t quite myself last weekend,” he mumbled distractedly, his attention dipping to my chest as his hand lifted to cup my breast. He touched me like he appreciated my texture, using his thumb to draw circles on my skin.

“Then why would you risk it?” I ignored the pleasure radiating from where he enjoyed my body because I wanted to understand how Duane could be so dismissive of his badass car.

“I only risk what I’m willing to live without,” he said, still with an air of distraction. He moved, guiding me so my back was against the mattress and he was above me again. Just before he bent his head to my chest he licked his lips. The wet, slick heat of his mouth closed over my nipple and he sucked, swirling his tongue in a circle.

Despite my best efforts to remain focused, my breathing became erratic.

“Duane,” I struggled to remain sensible. “Duane, that’s not real risk at all. It’s only real if you risk what you need.”

“I need to be inside you again, Jessica,” he half whispered, half growled and I felt his need press into my inner thigh.

“Okay…” I sighed, adding absentmindedly. “But you should know I’m still mad at you for not taking my call on Sunday.”

“I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve taken your call.” He nipped the underside of my breast.

I squirmed, my eyes closing. “You have to promise me, I need you to promise you’ll never do that again.”

I sensed him falter, his movements stilled, and several long seconds passed where the only audible sounds were our combined breathing and the crackle of the dying fire.

His continued stillness prompted me to open my eyes and lift my head. He was still over me, his mouth parted like he was going to speak, but needed to think first on the words. Duane’s sumptuous eyes examined my face, searching. His expression was enough to give me pause, and I was about to withdraw, push him further for the needed promise.

But then he said, “As long as we’re together, I’ll never ignore your call, I promise.”

Something about the assurance felt off, too careful. I was groggy, therefore I replayed his words in my head three times before I caught the disclaimer.

“No.” I shook my head, narrowing my eyes in an attempt to stay focused. “No, no disclaimers. Just a promise. You need to promise me you will never ignore me again. For the rest of our lives you will call me back, ’til we’re dead and buried.”

He continued to stare at me, and as he stared I watched Duane war with himself. After a protracted minute, he rose to his knees, his eyes conducting a quick but heated sweep of my face, hair, body, and then he climbed off the bed.

He paced the short distance to the fireplace, then the table. He halted there, his hands on his hips, giving me his glorious backside. I watched his broad shoulders rise and fall and propped myself up on my elbows, waiting. The longer I waited the heavier the sinking sensation twisted in my belly, giving me vertigo.

“Duane?”

Abruptly he turned and stalked back to the bed, careful not to touch me. He sat on the edge, grabbing his boxers from the floor, and pulled them on. I watched him dress, at a complete loss as to what he was thinking.

“What are you doing?”

He gave me his decidedly stormy gaze. “You’re asking too much. I can’t promise that.”

Again, I replayed his words in my head three times before I understood. When I did, I’m sure my expression mirrored the explosion of anger catching my brain on fire. I scrambled from the bed, taking the sheet with me, and stood over him as he yanked on his jeans.

“Why the hell not?”

“You know why not.”

“I don’t. I really don’t.” My hand fell against my thigh with an exasperated smack. “Sometimes you talk to me, and sometimes you don’t. You tell me you’ve been waiting for me, for five years, biding your time. You’re hell bent on courting me, but heaven forbid I give you a blow job! We make this deal for thirteen and a half months, meanwhile you’re straddling the line. I’m all in and you’re half in, half out.”

He stood from the bed, buttoning and zipping the fly of his jeans, and I lifted my chin to maintain eye contact. I decided he was too tall. And imposing. And unreachable.

“You’re leaving, Jess. You’re not all in. You’re dipping your toes in the water until it’s time to go.”

I felt that remark in my spine, between my shoulder blades like a knife.

It took me a moment, but I finally managed—albeit more loudly than I’d intended—to respond, “That is complete bullshit, Duane, and you know it. When have I ever given you any reason to think I’m not completely invested?”

“What I know is, when you leave, you can’t expect me to have friendly feelings about it. When you leave, you shouldn’t call me. Ever. Because I am not returning your calls. I won’t want to see or talk to you.”

This time the pain was in the front and the back, my spine and my chest, and I’m pretty sure I flinched. His words felt like a blow, a slap across the face, especially after what we’d just shared. I knew tears were gathering in my eyes but I didn’t care.

Duane studied my features only briefly before turning around and walking back to the table, like he couldn’t stand looking at me. I swallowed my emotion, but it continued to rise, making my scalp feel hot and my skin overly tight.

And then I heard his frustrated grumble, “This was a mistake.”

I couldn’t think. All the air had been sucked out of the room. I backed up to the mattress and sunk to it. He was a pendulum and I couldn’t keep up with his perpetual motion mood swings. One minute we’re cuddled up in bed and the next…

“I don’t understand.” I stopped, then decided just to say what I felt. “I don’t understand why you offered me a year when you obviously had no intention of following through. Can you explain that?”