Probably.
Were our signals crossed so terribly that we both felt the same things, but,like idiots,we got in our own way?
Definitely.
Could we have been together all this time?
Absolutely.
My feet were aching, and a dull throb had begun in my right temple. It was time to give up this maddening trek around the room. Things would be clearer in the morning, right?
Nope.Forget that.
I didn’t need time, and I didn’t need to think.
His sweet words—before the biting ones—melted over me like warm chocolate, eliciting a small smile. I’d dreamed about this for so long—that there was a man out there—determined and strong. Caring and confident with eyes only for me. I’d dreamed that man was meant for me, and from the intensity of Miller’s eyes as he held me in that dusty space—I knew that man was him.
It had always been him. I’d just been too caught up in my head to see what had been with me all along.
I loved him.I loved him with a fierceness that defied reason and logic. I loved him from the bottom of my soul until the light radiated from my fingertips and released itself into the universe. What had I done?A life without this man felt like a gaping wound in my chest, festering until I succumbed to the injury.
It wasn’t just the sex—that was beyond compare—I enjoyed his company. We could have a real conversation where I could be myself, and he understood before running with whatever I’d said in his own direction, adding his thoughts. He matched and challenged me. We’d talk and debate. It was entertaining and exciting. Sex after an intense discussion was something I could hardly put into words.
Something about that damnable moment sitting in his lap, resting my head on the spot his shoulder met his neck, knowingthat regardless of our harsh words, he came to the event—left me speechless.
So speechless that I ran from the party, barefoot, like a lunatic with nothing to show for my anguish except gravel between my toes and tear tracks down my cheeks. It could not end like this. We could not end like this. All my life, I’d imagined some big love story. Being swept off my feet and whisked away.
The problem with that scenario was the waiting. I was in the throes of my life with a man who went out of his way toshowme how he felt on the daily. Sure, there were no declarations of unending love and rides into the sunset—but was that even realistic?
A nagging suspicion filled my lungs, creeping into my subconscious.
I left.
I left him.
My cheeks flamed, and my heart stuttered, beating erratically until I pressed my hand to my chest and bent forward. Colors swirled across my vision, and I dug one knuckle in my eye, not caring about any lingering traces of makeup.
This moment. This big, beautiful, horrible moment made one thing crystal clear—I wanted Miller more than I’d wanted anything ever before. He was exactly what I needed—always—and it was time to show him I could be exactly what he needed.
I grabbed my keys and shoved my feet into a pair of slippers before rushing out the door in a huff. The answer slapped me in the face harder than the harsh summer heat, and I let a small smile grace my face, hoping I could pull this off.
The drive to his house was a blur, and within a moment, I was banging on his door and taking deep gulps of air to steady the thumping of my heart. My fingers were turning white from holding the plastic grocery bags, but I couldn’t be bothered with something as trivial as circulation.
Miller’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened when the door opened. I pushed my way inside, not bothering with a greeting, just holding up my hand so he wouldn’t get a chance to open his mouth in protest. Articles of clothing were scattered around his living room. One shoe by the front door and another by the couch. His bowtie and cufflinks were on the coffee table, and his socks were by the kitchen.
It looked as if he was in the same predicament as me—pacing the length of the room and removing things as an afterthought while he walked. A petty part of me reveled in his discomfort, but I shook my head, schooling my features. He ran a hand through his hair, causing the ends to stick up.
I liked it better this way—not the gelled-up, perfect nonsense from earlier. He was one of those guys who perfected the messy look without actually styling his hair. Most guys would spend countless time trying to get the style Miller wore without effort. My fingers longed to run through the short strands, messing it further, but I held back. Now was not the time for touching—that would come later.Hopefully.
Now was the time for truth and action. Throughout my silent reflection of him standing in the middle of his living room, having no right to look as good as he did after spending hours with me locked in a closet, he didn’t speak.He stared.
Stared as I assessed him. Stared as my eyes raked over his body, and I chewed on my bottom lip until my lipstick was gone and it burned. Stared as I thought about everything I wanted to say and all the things he left unsaid.
He opened his mouth, eyebrows pinched, making the small laugh lines around his eyes stand out harshly against his features. I knew he was going to talk—to try to make light of what happened or do something stupid and ask me what was in the grocery bags. I shook my head; the motion made a rogue bobby pin fly out and clatter against the coffee table.
He froze and pursed his lips, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step farther away from me. Like he’d given up—resigned himself to whatever fate I saw fit.
Miller Hansen had another thing coming if he thought I’d just let him go. He was mine, and unless the last few hours were nothing more than a fever dream hallucination, I was his.
