“I am not your backup plan,” she says, quieter but fiercer. “I am not the girl you come home to when the city chews you up. I deserved to be chosen the first time.”
That one lands. Hard.
“And now you look at me like that” she gestures vaguely at my face “and I don’t know if you want me or you just don’t like other men wanting me, and I am too old and too tired and too tequila-ed for mixed signals, Rory Bennett.”
Finally, finally, she runs out of breath. And I still haven’t managed to get more than three words in.
“Freya, I…” I look around. “Come on, let’s go.”
She glares at me blankly.
“Rowan. Party room?” I ask. Rowan doesn’t even pretend to be surprised. He’s been clocking this slow-motion car crash from the bar since it started.
“All yours, mate.”
I reach for her hand without thinking. She yanks it away immediately, sharp and defensive, so I back off, lift my hands in surrender and nod toward the hallway instead.
“Please.”
She exhales hard, then stalks ahead of me. I follow close enough to catch her if she stumbles, resting my hand lightly at the small of her back, not possessive, not demanding. Just… there. A steadying presence. She doesn’t shrug it off.
The party room is dim, fairy lights strung along one wall, the muffled thud of karaoke bleeding through the door behind us. As soon as it clicks shut, she moves as far away as possible, back to the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest like armour. I can’t help but notice the way her arms now form a perfect shelf for her tits which are now threatening to burst out of the top of her dress.
Her chin lifts.
“Well?” she says. “What, Rory?”
I swallow. My heart is going like I’ve just run a hundred metres uphill.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “For trying to kiss you.”
Her jaw tightens.
“For years,” I continue, “I never felt good enough for you. I wanted to ask you out but every time I thought about it, I chickened out. I told myself you deserved better. Someone braver. Someone who wouldn’t mess it up” My voice cracks. I don’t try to stop it. I laugh softly to myself. “And then suddenly it wasn’t ‘someday’. It was too late. I was in the city, swept up in a life that looked impressive on paper and felt empty everywhere else. I disappeared. And that is on me.”
Her eyes flicker. Just for a second.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, emotion finally winning. “For leaving. For being a pussy and not asking you out. For trying to kiss you and confusing you. You don’t deserve any of this. I just wish we could go back to how we were before I fucked things up. I felt like I finally had you back, Frey.”
Her breathing changes. It’s slight, but I feel it because I’m standing close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin through the air between us. The anger’s drained out of her now. Not gone, exactly. Just… softened at the edges. Which somehow feels worse. When she’s shouting, I can defend myself. When she’s quiet like this, I’ve got nowhere to hide.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she says, and it’s not sharp, it’s tired.
“I don’t know either,” I admit, because I genuinely don’t. I just know that every time I try to stay away from her I end up standing two inches from her mouth like an idiot.
I step closer without thinking it through. She doesn’t move back. Her hand comes up to my chest like she’s bracing herself,fingers curling slightly into my shirt, and that tiny movement nearly undoes me. Her palm is warm. My heart is not behaving.
I slide my hand to her waist carefully, slowly, giving her every chance to push me off. She doesn’t. She tilts her chin up a fraction instead, eyes flicking down to my mouth before she can stop herself. And that’s it. That’s the crack in my self-control.
I lean in just enough that I can feel her breath against my lips. My forehead brushes hers first, skin to skin, and the contact is soft enough that it almost makes me laugh because this is ridiculous. We’re in our mid-thirties. We have children. We are not teenagers behind the sports hall. And yet my body is reacting like it’s the first time I’ve ever been this close to a woman.
Her nose grazes mine. Her fingers tighten in my shirt. I can feel the faint tremor in her breath and it shoots straight through me.
I want to kiss her.Fuck, I want it so bad.I want to kiss her because she’s right there and because I’ve wanted to for about twenty years and because every time I get close to her something in my chest loosens and tightens at the same time. Which is exactly why I shouldn’t. Because if I kiss her now, in this room, after tequila and shouting and me admitting I’ve been a coward for most of my adult life, it won’t be steady. It’ll be impulse. It’ll be heat. It’ll be me grabbing something I’m terrified of losing. And she’s already told me she doesn’t trust me.
“Frey,” I murmur, my mouth barely a breath from hers, my eyes still shut. Her eyes open first.
“We can’t,” she whispers.
