Tangled Up in You – Meant to Be Read Online Christina Lauren

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Contemporary, New Adult Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
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Fitz took a long look at her. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.”

Their hands bumped as they walked through the hotel lobby, and Ren could feel the tension brewing between them, feel her own relief that whatever friction had risen seemed to have dissolved infinitesimally. Maybe it was her turn to initiate contact. Maybe he’d just been waiting for her to reciprocate. With her heart hammering in her windpipe, she stepped closer to him in the elevator, near enough to press her arm to his.

But Fitz moved away, a big side step, and began hacking into his fist, racked by a sudden coughing bout.

Surprised, Ren carefully patted his back. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, eyes watering as he croaked out, “Good.” He pointed to his throat, letting out a wheezing “Just a—dust or—something.” Fitz recovered with a clearing of his throat before shoving his hand into the pocket of his jeans and leaning against the far side of the elevator car.

Ren’s stomach flipped over. Oh God. Had he just faked a coughing fit? Had he been avoiding physical contact with her? Silence yawned between them, and in that mortifying moment of understanding, Ren wished the elevator would plummet to the basement and put her out of her misery. Every time he’d touched her before had been in public. Of course it had. He had simply been getting her attention with a nudge to her side or keeping track of her with his arm around her shoulders. Like one would with a pet or an errant child.

Mercifully, the elevator doors opened on their floor, and Fitz hesitated while Ren rushed out. The walk down the hall with him only a few steps behind her felt like a silent death march. At the door, Ren swiped her key and walked inside.

“Still only one bed,” she blurted, and it landed in a deep pool of silence. She immediately wanted to hit rewind or—even better—to vanish into thin air. “I’m gonna—” She pointed over her shoulder, grabbing her backpack and disappearing into the bathroom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

FITZ

Fitz was an enormous asshole.

He knew it. She knew it. Even this giant bed they were going to share knew it.

For a few seconds after Ren disappeared into the bathroom, Fitz stood on the other side of the door, fist raised, trying to find the nerve to knock. He didn’t hear water running, didn’t hear teeth brushing. There was only silence, and his mind filled with all the potential images on the other side: Ren glaring at herself in the mirror. Ren crying. Ren burying her embarrassed face in her hands. He stepped away, walking over to the bed and sitting down.

Fitz could remember his first Thanksgiving at the Fitzsimmons table. It was only two weeks after the adoption had been finalized, and in the previous ten years he’d gone from Mary’s to homeless to juvie to this; he knew it would be a long time before he stopped feeling like a vagabond in the pristine hallways, if ever. At the dinner, there’d been three forks at each place setting, servants bringing out food, clearing plates. He didn’t know to put his napkin in his lap, didn’t know which bread plate was his. When the food arrived, he reached for it, not knowing that they were supposed to say grace first, and after grace they were supposed to go around and say what they were thankful for, one at a time. Fitz didn’t know that his new father, Robert, expected Fitz to thank him and only him for bringing him into the Fitzsimmons home, that Robert would be sullen and withdrawn for the entire rest of the meal because Fitz had thanked Robert’s wife, Rose, first and longer.

But Fitz learned, quickly. He learned how to put on the mask, how to shower Robert with awe and deference whenever he was home. Fitz learned how to play Robert’s game, by Robert’s rules. It never brought them the true bond of a father and a son, but it brought them a delicate sort of peace. His father started taking Fitz to fundraisers, ball games, charity appearances, and staged photo ops out shopping in Seattle or Portland or Vancouver. No matter how often Robert screamed at his wife and kids, no matter what Fitz heard going on behind closed doors, Robert cared only that, in public, he came off as the perfect parent, and Fitz let him. He could be patient.

Even though Ren wasn’t patient—grabbing at life with both fists was more her style—Fitz wouldn’t expect her to know how to navigate everything on the first try either, and was amazed how fast she was learning. Whereas he’d spent his first year in his new world quietly observing, Ren was running forward, arms outstretched. He wanted to tell her how impressed he was, how hard and disorienting and intimidating he knew it must be. Most of all he wanted to tell her just how desperately he wanted to hold her hand—and much, much more.


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