I let out a gasp. “Brody! You left him waiting that whole time?”
“I had to! I was with this amazing girl. Beautiful. Funny. I wasn’t going to pass that up.”
I give his shoulder a little smack, laughing. “You’re terrible.”
Brody is smirking, the hard lines of his face melting away. “I am. But luckily for me, my dad sort of owed me one, so when I told him about the girl whose laugh made me completely forget where I was supposed to be, he gave me a pass for being late.”
He’s really smiling now, his gaze dipping to my lips, and my breath hitches.
“I know I already said it, but I’m really sorry about Barcelona, Chloe.”
My eyes find his, those ocean-storm eyes. Blue, gray, blue again. We could have had something real…“I really thought that night didn’t matter to you. That I didn’t matter.”
“Chloe.” He sets his drink down, turning his body toward me. “You have no idea how much you mattered. I left because my life was a disaster and you deserved better. Not because you didn’t matter.”
He’s leaned in closer, his fingers grazing my chin, tilting my face back to look at him. “I never forgot about you. Not for a single day.”
Vaguely, I’m aware of sirens going off inside my head. Wee-ooo. This is bad.
This is so bad.
Because he’s looking at me like the man I knew in Barcelona. Which is bad in itself, if you’re trying very hard NOT to think about dancing by the fountain. Kissing under the orange trees. Then again…the contract didn’t say I couldn’tthinkabout the kiss.
Except I know without a doubt that I’m looking at him the same way.
“Chloe,” he says again. Softer this time. His thumb grazes my jaw, sending my brain into a full meltdown. His gaze drops to my lips again, and he leans in. And I don’t pull away. In fact, I think you could construe what I’m doing (with my hands apparently moving of their own accord to touch his face) as leaning as well. His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer?—
A car horn honks outside.
We both freeze.
Brody blinks. Pulls back slightly. “Who’s that?”
“Jessa.” The words come out breathless. “I texted her to pick me up.”
“Why?”
“Because you should stay here.” I pull back. Put necessary space between us. “With your dad. And maybe it’s not a great idea for me to…” I trail off. The weight of what I’m not saying hangs heavy in the air. “…also stay.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes.
“Chloe—”
“Thank you for tonight. For Barcelona the restaurant. For trusting me with”—I gesture around—“all of this.”
I step down from the stairs, my knees still a little weak, and move toward the door.
He catches my hand. “Wait.”
I stop. Don’t turn around. Can’t turn around.
Because if I look at him, I’m going to kiss him.
And that’s not in the contract.
That’s real.
And real is terrifying.
