“Nope. Got it,” I interrupt Kayla and move at a brisk pace toward the bathrooms inside the café.
Angry heat boils inside me. He doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to almost kiss me, ignore me, and then be a petulant manchild when someone else shows me attention.
With each step, my resolve burns away any hesitation. This isn’t a trope. This is my heart. I want Garrett. It’s terrifying, but I’m not going to keep doing this. I won’t wait, and I won’t play this hot and cold game anymore. I’m cannonballing into the deep end. I may sink to the bottom, but I know I can swim my way back up. I’ve done it before. I just hope I don’t have to again.
“Jensen,” Garrett rasps as I enter the small alcove where the unisex bathrooms lie.
“Don’t Jensen me.” I jab a finger into his chest. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t almost kiss me, pull away, barely look at me, and then act like a spoiled child who’s angry that someone else is looking at their favorite toy. I’m not a toy.”
He leans in, his mouth inches from mine. “I never said you were.”
“You’re acting like it.” I purse my lips.
“How am I supposed to act when minutes after we almost kiss, your brother shows up with flowers from another man? A man who clearly wants more, and whom you’re still speaking to? The same man I watched you pine over for months. Only to have another man flirt with you not twenty minutes later.”
I toss my hand in the air. “You’re jealous?”
“Of course, I am.” He moves closer, causing me to back into the wall. “I don’t like literary fuckboys bringing you flowersbecause I want to be the only man bringing you flowers. I don’t like other men—even my friends—telling you you’re pretty because I want to be the only man that makes you blush like that.”
“Garrett…” My breath stutters.
“I’m jealous of any man who looks at you. Who makes you smile. Makes you laugh.” His hands come to my waist, holding me in place. “You are what I think about when I wake up and before I fall asleep…” He brushes his lips up my throat in a slow, sensual lick. “Not to mention you haunt my dreams.”
“Garrett…” I whimper, my body melting against him.
“Fuck, all I want is to drag you into that bathroom, press you up against the wall, kiss you until the only air you breathe is me, and then plunge myself so fucking deep into you that I don’t know where you begin and where I end. That there’s no question.” He skates his nose along my jawline, inhaling deep. “So sweet…”
“No question of what?” I moan with the bite of his fingers into my hips.
“That I’m yours.”
The featherlight brush of his lips over mine causes a shudder to rip down my spine. My entire body thrums with need. My blood heats and skin burns for his touch. No man has ever made me hurt like this. The need for him is a deep ache. So is the fear that I may never have enough of him. Every minute with Garrett leaves me both satisfied and endlessly wanting.
I trail my hands up his torso, over his sculpted chest, along his throat, past his jawline, and cup his face. A quiet, pained groan escapes him with my slow march up his body, confirming I’m not alone in this. The knowledge that he aches for me as much as I do for him makes me drunkenly emboldened.
“Do it, then.” Head tipped up, determination curls my lips. My words are a hopeful dare.
“Jensen…” He swallows thickly.
“Take me in there and make me yours.”
“I…” Shaking his head, as if breaking a trance, he releases me and steps back.
“Garrett?” I croak.
He scrubs his hands over his face. “This isn’t a good idea. We… I lost control… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I’m sorry.”
“You just said… Why?” My whisper is pained. Any quieter and he may hear my heart breaking. I knew this would happen. It’s what held me back. I warned myself, but I still didn’t listen. Here I am, again, wanting a man who, for whatever reason, doesn’t want me back.
“I’m not good for you.”
“That’s bullshit.” I narrow my eyes. “This isn’t about not hurting me. It’s about protecting yourself. I can’t imagine what losing Val was like for you, but you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to use protecting me as an excuse for playing mind games with my heart, making me think you want me one moment and then you don’t the next,” I hiss.
“I’m not… It’s not aboutnotwanting you.” His words are filled with sorrow.
As much as his pain slices into me, it’s a mere prick to my own. This is a sad song I’ve heard before.
“And that’s the problem. You want me, but you’re too scared to do anything about it… Want me. Don’t want me. Either way, it’s the same ending.” The ache surging in my chest causes my words to come out scratchy. “I’ve been here before, and I won’t do it again.”
