“Baby—” His eyes search mine, clearly at a loss.
“I said leave!” Turning on my heel, I storm into my bedroom. When I grab the doorknob, ready to slam it in his face, he’s already shoving his way in before I can shut him out. “What don’t you understand about the wordleave?” I hiss.
I need him gone.
Likenow.
“Nope, uh-uh,” he says with a head shake. “We’re not doing this again. I stumbled on another trigger, and I’m sorry. Me fucking up, you going off and kicking me out, only for me to overthink everything and come back for you two days later? That won’t happen again.” I glare at him, but he continues, “I would do it. I absolutely would. But let’s cut the time of us being apart and overthinking this and talk it out.”
I don’t say anything, and with every moment of silence that passes, the room feels smaller, and his presence becomes more overwhelming. My gaze eventually drops to his feet, bare on my bedroom floor. He has a fucking smiley face tattoo on top of his left one, grinning at me as stupidly as he always does, and there’s something so real about him standing there, unguarded, so open to being hurt by me.
It makes me want to scream.
Why can’t he just leave when I tell him to?
Why can’t he make this easy?
“I’m not here to hurt you, Sparkle.” I watch as his smiling foot takes a hesitant step toward me. “I’m sorry that I seem to always stumble over stuff. I’m here because I like you. Because I want to be here. I know you don’t want anything serious, and that’s fine. I’m not asking for a promise or a commitment. I… I want to be here. With you.”
I swallow against my tightening throat. “Why?”
It’s not as though I’ve given him anything that would make him want to stick around besides good sex. But everything about this moment feels more than about sex. That thought alone makes my skin itch.
I finally glance up at him just as his brows draw together, and I see something in his eyes—a flicker of pain as he answers. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I hate this. I hate the way he’s looking at me like I’m something worth staying for.
I’m not.
Ace thought I was. He wanted to be with me. He said it’d be forever, and then forever ended in an instant.
Beingwith mekilled him.
“I don’t need anyone,” I reply coldly. “I don’t need you coming in here and acting like you can make it all better. You can’t.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t run, doesn’t leave like I expect him to. He only looks at me, his eyes soft as he takes a breath as if steadying himself. “I know I can’t make it… whateveritis… better. I’m not here to fix stuff.”
His words catch me off guard, and the fight leaves me. My shoulders sag from long-held exhaustion.I’m so tired. So fucking tired of fighting.
I look away when my eyes start to burn, and I hate myself for it. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear.
He reaches out, his fingers hesitantly brushing against mine, but I don’t pull away. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… let me stay. We can have breakfast, talk about nothing, really, and if it’s too much, I’ll leave. Just eat breakfast with me, Sparkle.”
I close my eyes and swallow thickly, trying to shut out the emotions swirling inside me. When I open them again, he has that stupid, hopeful look in his eyes, and the familiar war rages inside me all over again. A battle between the instinct to push everyone away, to protect them and me, and the desperate, pathetic part of me that craves warmth and connection, something to keep the emptiness at bay.
And just like that, my stubbornness loses the fight.
Seems it always does when it comes to him.
“Fine. Breakfast.”
He smiles, and it’s so genuine that my heart physically aches.
Hottie opens his arms as if he wants to hug me, but I press a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm’s length. “There are plates in the kitchen.”
He nods, not missing a beat, and turns to leave the room. Without him standing so close, I take a deep breath, and the air suddenly feels a little more breathable. Quickly, I shed the towel and pull on a G-string and jean shorts, then a bra.
When he returns, he’s balancing two plates with croissants in one hand and my coffee mug from the bathroom in the other. He sets everything down on my nightstand, then glances at the rumpled sheets and starts to make the bed, straightening the blankets.
