Was it that? Realistically, I know I’m being hard on myself. I didn’t find Wilder hot at first. When I got the job, I was firmly rooted in the belief that he wasn’t my type. But then I started to pay attention. I got to know him. And then I realized he’s definitely my type because my type is kind, warm, soft-hearted, generous, dimpled, and rock hard assed.
God, not the last part.
What is going on with my brain?
Anyway, when I got to know him, that’s when it really started. The tingles. The crazy crush. The irrevocable falling harder and harder and further and deeper in love.
“Hey.”
I startle when I realize Wilder has turned around and is staring right at me, staring at him. Now we’re both staring at each other, staring at each other.
“Are you okay? You’re really pale. Do you need to sit down for a minute?”
That’s supposed to be my line. My role. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of him. Even if I’m not working for him anymore, I’m a natural caregiver. I always have been. I knew I wanted to be a nurse long before I was even in high school.
“I… I…” My brain glitches. It farts like Woof Woof Dog, blips, falls straight offline, goes into dark mode, and fucks me, my life, and the entire world. “I kind of love you.”
Chapter seven
Wilder
Ididn’t know mortification was a living, breathing thing, but alas, here we are.
Carissa freezes across from me with a look of horror so acute on her face that the roof of the house might as well have just been torn off by six-headed cow aliens flying in a giant spaceship and squirting green alien cow milk that immediately liquifies anything in its path.
To anyone else, this would be awhat the fuckmoment, but I hear those words hundreds, if not thousands, of times a day. Well, not every single day, but lots of days. I’m used to it.
“That’s fair.” I’m cautious, giving her an out. “I’m glad more people do than don’t, to be honest. Hate is just part of the job, but it’s unpleasant at the best of times. So, thank you. That’s nice.”
“No. Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck. I don’t love you.” She clenches and unclenches her hands at her sides, ready to kick space cow ass. Or run. Maybe both.
“That’s okay too.” Why is that a sucker punch straight to the gut? Why are my hands suddenly curling around the ledge of this island? And why the hell do I feel so cold on the inside? “You don’t have to. It was never a job requirement.”
“I don’t love you,” she whisper-screams. “I’minlove with you. I have been for years.”
Bam. There’s an honesty bomb for you.
Carissa has the courage of a lioness. She could easily have backed down and laughed it off, but she didn’t. Instead, she actively clarified what she meant. And now that she’s said it, she can’t unsay it. I can’t unhear it. It can’t unexist.
Panic. Major panic. Meltdown mode. Anxiety.
What the fuck? What the fucking hell? How does one even respond to that? Should I respond?
I might be sort of melting down, but I can’t deny that the cold sensation has fucked off. The block of ice in my gut is all thawed, liquid, and goopy.
“Did you think those songs I wrote came from a place of not loving? They’re all love songs. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.”
How did I not realize that? The tour finished over a week ago. I’ve spent all that time staring at her journal, working through the songs, putting them to music in my head, and playing them. Over and over again. Some are obviously written as love songs, but it’s not obvious that theyallare. And it wasn’t obvious they were forme.
“God, you hold your cards tight. I didn’t know.”
She groans and facepalms her forehead, wrapping her hands around her temples before dragging them down past her eyes, over her nose, her lips, and her chin, stretching the whole thing out. “You should go. I need to locate a corner and die in it.”
“I don’t even know if I’m capable of loving someone.” Shit. I guess I had to match her truth bomb with one of my own.
She blinks at me. I blink back. She blinks again. Great. We’re going to have a blink-off. I try not to blink, but it’s a natural reaction, and my eyes get dry fast. I’ve heard that people slow blink when they’re comfortable and fast blink when they’re emotional or upset. That has to be a lie. We’re both slow blinking, and neither of us is relaxed.
“But you… Alicia Thorton. You dated for years.”
