“Call her and tell her that.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“You’re a handsome guy ’n’ all ...” I snort. “I’m serious, though. Like I said, Miriam is big on honesty. Probably because she’s blunt to a fault, and she appreciates it in return. If you hit her up, tell her what you just told me, and be sincere about it, chances are she’ll give you another shot at a date. I mean, I can’t promise anything.” Because I won’t. And I’m not interfering. Not again. I won’t do that to her—or myself—again. “But she would understand. And besides, I think you’d rather have her know you froze than believe you’re a boring-ass date who couldn’t string two sentences together.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and studies me for a long moment. “You know what? That actually makes a weird kind of sense.”
“And if she does give you another opportunity, forget the fancy-restaurant shit. That was fine for a first date, but do something different to show her you don’t see her as one of many. That you’re thinking outside the box. She does graphic design for a living, and she loves art. I’ve seen her sit on her phone and stare at a painting for minutes at a time because it captured her attention. She’s also a huge fantasy and paranormal fan. Anything with magic or mythical creatures. HugeSupernaturalsuperfan. So think about taking her to the art museum or Monster World. There are haunted houses now that’re open for just a few more days. She loves to be scared.”
I’m throwing him all the ideas of the places I’d planned on taking her.
“Haunted house, huh?” One corner of his mouth twitches.
“Yeah,” I rasp.
Slapping his hands down on the arms of the chair, he announces, “What the hell? I’ll do it. What do I have to lose, right?”
“Your pride. Dignity. Reputation,” I supply.
“Asshole.” He grins, and the fact that he looks more relaxed, happier than he did minutes ago eases the vise grip around my ribs. After a moment, a small frown wrinkles his forehead. “You know her really well, don’t you?”
Yeah, I might’ve spoken too soon. That binding on my chest tightens, and I’m back to watchful and uncomfortable. Back to deliberately quelling the desire to escape.
“We’ve gotten close. Why?”
“Ilikeher, man,” he murmurs. His gaze drops from mine to the floor, as if he can’t meet my eyes when he admits that. As if he’s ashamed to say those words aloud. “Just from the little time I’ve spent with her, I can tell she’s different from the other women I’ve been with since Jerricka ...shit.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Is it bad that I sometimes still can’t say the word?” He doesn’t seem to expect an answer because he sighs and continues. “I’ve been with women, but I can’t tell you their names, can’t even remember their faces. And I know that makes me sound like the worst kind of bastard. But it’s true. I was only with them when the loneliness became too damn unbearable and I just needed to alleviate it. But Miriam ... for the first time, I want toknowthe woman. Her likes, dislikes. What makes her tick. Hear her laughter. Hell, be the one to make her laugh. And at night, that’s made me feel like shit. Like I’m cheating on Jerricka. But I keep telling myself this is what I need to do tolive. That she, more than anyone, would want me to live.”
Silence resonates like an arena’s roar in the locker room. And underneath it throbs my guilt like an open wound. I might want Miriam—such a pallid, weak description of the clawing, desperatething that beats at me with relentless, battering fists—but Daniel? Heneedsher.
“What do you need from me?” I ask.
“Help me. If she gives me another chance, I don’t want to screw up like I did on our first date. Just like you did with telling me how she loves art and all thingsSupernatural, help me out with things like that. Let me know if I’m fucking up. Let me know if I should buy roses instead of lilies. I just don’t want to mess this up.”
Oh God.
Ask me for anything else. Didn’t I do my part as a friend? What more can be expected from me? She’s not just my friend, but she’s the woman I’m fucking in love with. It takes everything in me not to tip my head back, look at the ceiling, and ask God, “What have I done? Let me know so I can get off the hook, please?”
I’ll make whatever sacrifice is necessary.
But there’s no answer coming. Not that I expected one.
Because there are times I believe he gave me Miriam as an answer to my prayers.
And others—as punishment for my sins.
In this moment, I’m on the verge of falling to my knees and begging for penance.
The fact is Miriam isn’t mine, was never mine, regardless of what I let one hot-as-hell night try to deceive me into believing. Into hoping. And I have a choice here. I can say no to Daniel because, shit, just the thought of her with another man—much less one I know and will possibly have to see her on the arm of, smiling into the face of—has my gut churning and heart twisting.
Or I can agree to Daniel’s request. He seems to be really into Miriam, and who knows? Though she claims not to date athletes, once she gets to know the real him, maybe he could be the one to change her mind. To be the man for her that I couldn’t be. Both of them deserve that. Deserve happiness.
And so do I.
At this point, it’s almost self-preservation.
“No,” I say, studying him, my heart lodging in the base of my throat.
“No?” He frowns.
