“I’m not interested,” I say finally.
“Stronger.”
“I’m not interested,” I try again. “Not even a little bit.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
I look down at the comforter, eyes focusing on an errant thread as my cheeks warm. “I…can’t,” I admit.
“Why not?”
“Because.” My eyes snap to his. “I don’t mean it.”
Our gazes remain locked for an endless amount of time, and I don’t think I so much as blink until his hand reaches up and brushes a strand of hair off my face, fingertips a gentle graze against my skin. That’s all it takes. That touch. That one tiny touch, no more than a soft brush of skin, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. And when his forehead presses against mine, the room starts to spin.
I become hyperaware of every single inch of my skin, because every single inch aches with the desire to press against every single inch of his.
Ten seconds pass. Ten suffocating seconds that I count with hazy thoughts and achy lungs and throbbing skin. We sit there, foreheads bent, mouths and breath and hands unbearably close. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve imagined this moment so many times, but now that I’m here, I’m paralyzed. I don’t know what to do, but this time I know what I want.
I want him to touch me everywhere.
But he doesn’t. He pulls back. He reels it in. He looks away.
I slowly deflate.
“It’s late,” he says gruffly. “You’ve had a trying night. You should get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He stands, already moving toward the door.
At first, I worry he’s just going to walk out without a word, but when he pauses in the doorway, I hold my breath in anticipation of whatever he’s about to say. “He backed you into a corner, Violet. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, but it was all my fault. I should have said no when he asked me to go to the roof. I was just too busy avoiding conflict. Too busy being likable and easygoing and unproblematic. Too busy being a coward.
Because under no circumstances should I have kissed Christian.
No.
I should have kissed Landon.
THIRTY-THREE
Over the next week, I pour all my energy into testing recipes for Landon’s event, doing my best to push the memory of the rooftop kiss to the back of my mind. With each day, the self-loathing fades a little more, and it becomes easier to forget the kiss ever happened. Well…almost.
It helps that I can’t stop thinking about Landon and our moment in my bedroom. I can’t stop imagining what could have happened if the night had gone differently…and we’d done more than touch foreheads and hold hands.
If he’d touched me the way I wanted him to.
More and more, I find myself trying to dissect his moods and analyze his intentions, reconcile the entitled asshole with this new version and understand why it’s getting harder and harder to hate him.
Realizing that maybe I haven’t hated him for a while.
Maybe I never did.
When the day of the shoot arrives, I have two dozen cupcakes and cookies ready to go, all decorated to perfection. The Prolimbinary logo features a butterfly with one natural wing and one bionic one, and I stayed up late the night before creating edible butterfly decorations. One wing is purple, the other a metallic gold, and I placed them carefully on top of the icing, scattering crystal sprinkles that sparkle in the light on either side.
After setting the desserts next to the rest of the catered food, I glance around the studio until my eyes find Landon. As always, he’s impossible to miss, and I find myself watching him for too long.
Seeing Landon in his element is eye-opening. He talks and jokes with the kids, doing his best to make them feel comfortable in the unfamiliar environment. At one point, he crouches down in front of a girl who’s maybe nine, telling her something that makes her giggle as he adjusts her prosthetic arm. His responding smile is radiant, and I didn’t realize he possessed the ability to light up a room until now.
