Before Thirty

19. Gwen

"Not in the mood for chaos, eh?"

"As my sister Paige would say, 'There's a time and place for everything.' Not every day needs to be filled with poor choices." I lead him out of the elevator and onto the street where we turn to head up the hill. His hotel is much more centrally located than mine.

"Sensible," he agrees, but his tone has lost its flirty edge.

"I'm trying it on for size." My willpower has never been great where gorgeous men like Blake are concerned, and if he pushed the issue, I'd fold like a cheap lawn chair.

The hill is steep, and it overflows with lights—loud and brash that advertise everything from motel rooms to haunted houses to arcades to restaurants. For lots of people, it would feel like sensory overload and definitely garish. But I actually like how much it screams for people to live in the moment, experience it all. As a life philosophy, I think it's a pretty great one.

Even though it's late, Niagara Falls is feeling a bit like Las Vegas with no real sense of time. Everything I suggest we do on the way to my motel, Blake agrees. At first, I love how he digs out his wallet for each thing and reminds me that it's part of the groveling.

But by the time we've done the arcade, the wax museum, the faux London Eye, and we're headed into the self-proclaimed "scariest" Haunted House—which is one I'd normally avoid—his generosity might be at level of groveling I'm not comfortable with anymore.

"I can pay for this one," I say, digging my wallet out of my purse, which is being dominated by my water-wine bottle.

"Tomorrow," he says as he passes the person in the booth some cash. "Let me have tonight."

He rarely lets me pay for much on a normal day, but the extravagance on his part is causing guilt to pinch me. A few days ago, he didn't even want to travel with me anymore, and I don't want him to think I'm taking advantage now.

"I was mostly kidding about the groveling. Even if you were my boyfriend, this would be too much." The second part slips out without me thinking, and then I realize it might sound like I want him to be my boyfriend.

The attendant gives Blake his change, and then Blake focuses on me at the entry. "Two things. If I was your boyfriend, my groveling would be of a very different nature." His eye contact is confident and suggestive.

That is definitely a sexual innuendo. Holy shit. Heat races across my body and down to my core.

Do I want Blake referring to sex? My brain is exploding in silence while my lower half does a happy dance. If he's thinking about sleeping with me, and I've already been thinking about it for weeks—with a graphic sketchbook as proof—we're in big trouble. My willpower has been dangling by the thread of his perceived indifference.

"And two, if a boyfriend of yours wasn't doing at least this to make it up to you, you need higher standards."

"It's possible my standards have been pretty basic in the past. Attractive and funny." I hold up two fingers, attempting to diffuse the electric vibe between us but my breathing is shallow, likely giving me away.

"Maybe not higher then," he says softly, "just more of them." He grazes my cheekbone with his thumb as he tucks a stray strand of hair from my ponytail behind my ear, and awareness races down my spine.

I both love and hate how much we're casually touching each other tonight. In the past with men, I've never questioned whether I should jump in, I just went for it. But I've also never had this kind of ticking clock, never been so sure I wanted each and every minute I could get with someone. Boyfriends in the past burned bright and hot before fizzling.