I manage to suck in a full breath of air, but a second later, I’m hit with a wave of destructive emotions, and I can’t stop from bursting out in tears.
A cool palm cradles my cheek, and I hear Easton say, “Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.”
It takes a while for the wave of emotions to begin lessening, and I begin to feel a little calmer. When I open my eyes, it’s to see Easton’s features drawn tight with worry.
“I’m so sorry,” he groans before he presses a kiss to my forehead. “I didn’t mean to trigger you.”
It feels like there’s an elephant parked on my chest, but with every breath, the pressure eases. When I realize I’m sitting on Easton’s lap,I lower my gaze, feeling super self-conscious. I quickly move off to sit beside him and wipe the tears from my face.
Crap, I just had one hell of a panic attack in front of Easton.
Feeling miserable, my voice quivers as I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing for you to apologize about,” he says, his tone gentle. When he lifts his arm, I flinch, and it has him slowing his movements as he brushes his hand over my hair.
“I will never hurt you, Nova,” he whispers.
I nod, and still not able to look at him, I reply, “I know.” Wanting to direct the attention away from me, I ask, “Why did you throw that script away?”
“I refuse to work with Kate Phillips,” he explains.
“Oh?”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and tenderly pulls me into his side. “She once spread rumors that I made a sex tape with her.”
“That’s awful.” I suck in a deep breath of his woodsy cologne, the scent soothing my nerves.
“Yeah, so she’s on my shitlist for life.”
“Now she’s on mine too,” I mutter.
Easton lets out a burst of laughter. “Yeah? You have a shitlist?”
I nod, my cheek brushing against his shirt. “It’s short and only reserved for the worst people.”
“Do I know anyone on the list?”
The corner of my mouth lifts slightly. “Kate.”
“Let’s get something to drink.”
We get up, and as we walk to the kitchen, I pat my hand over my hair to make sure there aren’t any strands sticking up.
Easton grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and hands one to me before asking, “Who else is on your shitlist?”
I shrug while I admit, “My mother, my grandfather, and the idiots I’ve dated.”
“Idiots? Plural?” A frown forms on his forehead. “How many have there been?”
I hold up two fingers.
His frown darkens. “And both were abusive.”
Shame washes over me, and I lower my head again. “They weren’t in the beginning. If I had known they’d hurt me, I wouldn’t have dated them.” I try to defend my stupid actions of the past that put me in harm’s way.
Easton takes hold of my arm and leans down in an attempt to get me to look at him, but I keep my gaze lowered.
“I’m not blaming you.” He rubs his palm up and down my arm. “It just fucking sucks that the two relationships you’ve had were with bastards who hurt you.”
