I wake up with a warm arm draped over my shoulder with Kyle's breathing against my throat. At some point within the last thirty minutes, he must've moved closer to me in his sleep. I'm torn between wanting him to stay right where he is for as long as I can keep him there and wanting to slide out of bed before he can wake up and notice our position.

Thing is, this is temporary.

It has to be.

A week ago, I might not have been able to admit to myself that I want something more than the animosity filled relationship I have with him. A week ago, all I was allowing in from him was animosity. All I was putting out was animosity. I'd be stupid to not know when the turning point for our friendship was.

The camping trip changed a lot in my mind. It was the first time I was forced to spend any real time with the guy outside of practice. It was the first time I realized there was more to the guy than his perfect exterior. I thought getting to know him would end with friendship, but last night shifting what I wanted into a whole other dimension.

Thing is, nothing more can happen, and it's not because I don't want anything more to happen. It's because as soon as Kyle wakes up, I'm going to have to tell him something that will make him run away from me faster than I can blink.

I watch the clock behind his head as it ticks by the minutes remaining before I wake him up for his 30-minute concussion check. Last night was more than a little rough waking up every 30 minutes. Knowing I had to wake up in 30 minutes kept me from sleeping the majority of the night. The only time I was able to fall asleep was during this 30-minute increment.

I watch the clock as it switches from 10:28 to 10:29, and I can't keep from cringing. One more minute until things go back to normal between Kyle.

I look down at his messy brown hair fanning over his sleep. For someone who was woken up in regular intervals throughout the night, he looks incredible and strangely peaceful. If someone were waking me up that regularly, I would've gotten angrier and angrier with that person each time it happened. Kyle took it like a champ. He'd wake up, looking adorably sleep, and blink up at me. Each time he said something to demonstrate he was all right before he'd quickly drift back to sleep.

My night was mostly spent watching the guy sleep. I know that's creepy, but it's not every day Kyle Amerson agrees to sleep in the same bed as you. Now his warmth is pressed up against my side, and that's something even more unbelievable.

My eyes flicker from his face to the clock again, and I grimace when I read that the time has switched again. I force myself to do the mature thing. I force myself to shake the guy's shoulders. I keep myself from leaning forward and pressing my lips against his when his sleepy eyes flutter open.

"I'm alive," he mumbles before closing his eyes again.

I want to allow him to sleep, but checkout is at eleven, and there's something we need to talk about before we'll presumably go our separate ways once we get to his dad's house.

"Hey," I mumble, shaking his shoulders again.

His eyes flutter open again. I smile at him.

"We have to get up soon. Check out is in thirty minutes," I tell him.

"K," he says, before closing his eyes again.

I can't bring myself to force the guy to get up. I know that sounds somewhat altruistic, but it's not. I want to soak this up while I can, and that means allowing the guy to sleep awhile longer. I mentally calculate how long it'll take us to get out and into the lobby. Five minutes at least. That gives us twenty-five more minutes in here. He can relax for twenty-five more minutes. After the rough night he had because of me and his father, it's the least I can do for him.

I feel the weight of my own eyelids, but I fight to stay awake. I don't have an alarm set, and I'm too tired to move. Plus, I really don't want to sleep through this.

I watch the clock the entire time, and twenty-five minutes have never gone by so quickly in my life. Why is it that when you want time to slow down, it goes so damn fast.

I shake Kyle's shoulders again, and he opens his eyes.

"Is it time?" he asks in a raspy, sleep filled voice.

"Unfortunately," I tell him, "and we need to be fairly quick. Check out is in five minutes."

He stretches his arms above his head and yawns. The action exposes a thin layer of his skin between his shirt and the boxers he slept in. My eyes are pulled to the exposed skin, and I don't fight them. Then he climbs out of bed and waits for me. I force myself to follow suite—hating where this day is heading already. I throw my shoes on, and I walk out the door.

I go through the motions of checking out of the motel, feeling last night's lack of sleep the entire time. I have a headache blooming behind my eyes, and my whole body is sore. Kyle follows me wordlessly.

When we get to Jasper's truck, I climb behind the wheel, and I glance over at Kyle. He's quieter than usual, and he's fidgeting with his hands in his lap. I've never seen the guy act shy before, but last night's events were out of the ordinary to say the least. It makes sense why he'd be a little unsure of where to go from here.

Unlucky for both of us, I know exactly where that is.

"You want me to swing you by the house, or do you want me to drop you somewhere else?" I ask him.

His eyes dart to me, and he narrows them slightly in question. He's probably wondering where I'm going. I do the right thing, even though the words burn my throat on their way out.

"Your dad wants me at his office to talk about what happened yesterday," I tell him.

"And you're going?" he asks me, his eyes widened incredulously.

I hate being so spot on with my prediction about how Kyle would take this news. Thing is, his dad is doing something for me, and his end of the bargain is only held up if I continue working with him. I open my mouth to deliver my patented response about my childhood's lack of silver spoons, but I can't bring myself to use his dad's money as a reason to loathe him anymore. After finding out about Kyle's mom, I can't actually bring myself to be a dick to the guy at all—which makes this conversation about fifty times more difficult.

"I don't like it either, but it's the way it has to be," I tell him.

He glares at me, and Kyle is a pretty even-tempered guy. I can count on one hand the number of times he's glared at me since we've known one another, and I've done some pretty glare worthy things to the guy. I turn my attention away from Kyle and back to driving, pulling out of the motel's parking lot and onto the street.

"Why? Why does it have to be that way?" Kyle asks me.

I shake my head in exasperation. I don't want to have this conversation with him. He's pissed. I can hear it in his voice, and I could definitely see it in his expression. Thing is, I can't even blame the guy. He got attacked yesterday because of my involvement in all of this. Then we kissed, and now I'm telling him I have no plans to stop selling for his dad. Yeah, I'd say he has a pretty solid reason to be angry.

"I know you don't get it, but it's necessary," I tell him, hoping he won't press me for details, yet knowing he will.

"What's he have on you? You can tell me," he surprises me with a soft, sympathetic tone.

I flinch. That tone is five times worse than his anger.

"You're so sure I don't want to be doing this, and I don't understand that, man. You know me. You must have some idea of how I grew up. You know I'd want the money—"

"Don't act like this is about the money! You and I both know he has something on you. What is it?" Kyle asks me.

I don't have it in me to lie to his face. If this was about the money, I would have stopped a long time ago. Hell, I'd like to believe I wouldn't have even started this in the first place.

"It's personal," I tell him.

He scoffs.

"Personal?"

His tone is disbelieving, and I don't know why. We kissed, sure, but that doesn't change our relationship overnight. I have personal things in my life I don't particularly want to share with the guy. Yes, I've realized I care about the guy. Yes, I'm finally admitting to feelings beyond simply caring about the guy. But no, I'm not interested in sharing every little detail of my life with him—with anyone really.

"Yes, Kyle. Personal. As in, I'm not explaining myself to you, and if that's a problem for you, then it's going to have to continue being a problem," I sound as frustrated as I feel, and I'd be lying if I said I'm not curing Holland out in my head right now.

I wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for him pulling the strings, and that's not lost on me.

"So, what? You're just going to continue your life as if yesterday didn't happen?" he asks me, and before I can respond he adds, "because it did happen, and if you wouldn't have shown up, what do you think they would've done?"

My stomach twists in discomfort at the thought. He's right, obviously. There's gotta be something we can do to keep Kyle safe moving forward. I don't know what Holland plans on discussing with me later, but I know what I plan on discussing with him. Kyle. Whatever happens moving forward, Kyle can't be put in harm's way again.

"We'll figure out a way to keep you safe. I'm fairly certain that was an anomaly anyway. They were mad about the cops being tipped off, and they took it out on you," I tell him, which might have happened even if I wasn't involved given Kyle's obvious ties to his own father.

I'm pretty sure that's why the targeted the guy in the first place, but even telling myself that does little to alleviate my guilt over the situation.

"You think?! What happens when next time they come after you instead?" he snaps.

I flinch because he sounds genuinely concerned about me. The last thing I need is him to worry about me. I've been doing fine in life without anyone watching my back, and it's my intention to continue that way. If anything, I need him to think about his own safety, not mine.

"I can handle it. Don't stress about me. This isn't new. This has been ongoing since your dad and my mom got together. Yesterday was the first incident that's happened, and I intend for it to be the last."

"What's your plan for when someone hits you over the head without warning, knocking you unconscious? I'd love to know myself for the next time it happens to me," he snaps.

I run my hand over my face, feeling my frustration with this conversation building. Being nice to Kyle is new to me, and it's taking everything in me to avoid biting his head off.

"Can we table this?" I ask, sounding as exhausted by everything as I feel.

"Sure," Kyle says, sounding sincere about being willing to drop this topic of conversation.

I glance at him hopefully, and he's starring out the window in front of him.

"For the record though. I never had the low opinion of you that you always thought I had. Until today, I thought you were a decent guy who got dealt a bad hand. Thanks for proving me wrong though," he says deceptively calmly.

His words cut. They get right to that vulnerable spot inside of me that'll never let me feel like I'm enough. I've never felt more like trash than I do right now, and surprise, surprise, it's golden boy Kyle Amerson making me feel it now.