Now give me my fucking toaster back.
Chapter 22
BLAKE
I NEVER BELIEVED ANY OF those romantic notions about one kiss having the power to knock the earth off its axis. A kiss so world-changing, so soul-fueling, that you feel a cosmic shift right down to the marrow in your bones. When in one heart-stopping moment, you just feel…complete.
If you’d asked me before last night if a kiss like that existed, I would’ve said, “God no.” I would’ve laughed and told you that sounds like a silly schoolgirl fantasy.
Joke’s on me.
That kiss and I are now well acquainted.
In fact, I can never go back to regular kissing now, not after Wyatt Graham shattered my entire kissing worldview.
I feel almost sick. Not emotionally but physically, like I have a fever. My breathing is shallow, and I feel flushed, even hours after the fact. A part of me feels changed, which is so ludicrous because it wasjust one kiss.
Not only that, but it was a “mistake.” At least according to Wyatt.
With him, everything is a mistake.
Flirting? Mistake.
Kissing? Mistake.
Staying up all night pouring our hearts out to each other, letting our insecurities spill out?Bigmistake.
His mixed signals make my head spin like a carousel. They’re exhausting.
I sit at the kitchen counter stewing about it, wishing he would makesensefor once in his stupid musician life. Instead, he spews things like “I’m going to ruin you” and then kisses me like the world is ending and I’m his salvation. He says “We can’t go there” and then admits he’s been shutting down his feelings for me for years.
Heliedto me on Christmas morning.
He looked me in the eye, donned a blank expression, and pretended he didn’t remember what happened on that counter.
Dick.
I turn toward the doorway when I hear his footsteps. He’s fresh out of the shower, dark hair damp and curling behind his ears. He’s wearing joggers and a white T-shirt, his feet bare.
“Morning,” I say, then lower my gaze to my breakfast. “There’re hard-boiled eggs and tomato slices in the fridge if you want.”
He nods at that but makes no move toward the fridge. “Can we talk about last night?”
“What’s there to talk about? It was a mistake, isn’t that what you said?”
Tension lines his shoulders as he prepares himself a cup of coffee. He doesn’t join me at the counter, leaning against the sink instead.
“I was drinking.” He sounds regretful.
“Yeah. You’re always drinking.” I pop a tomato slice in my mouth and chew.
“I told you it helps with my insomnia.”
“Is that why you get started before noon?” I can’t keep the mocking note from my voice. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I woke up this morning with zero fucks, as evidenced by my no-holds-barred responses to Isaac’s bullshit messages. And I’m tired of Wyatt’s excuses. “I saw you crack open a beer at eleven yesterday. In fact, since I got here, you’ve had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.”
His expression is one of wry amusement. “So the smoking is a problem for you too now?”
“No. It’s your life, Wyatt. But just so you know, chicks don’t love it.”
