“You came.”
“You asked. You’re the boss; what was I supposed to do?”
“Tell me to fuck off,” I say seriously. I deserve it.
Keeley beams in amusement, and while I smile back at her, her reaction concerns me a little. This is what I was worried about—the calm.
She should be pissed off at me. I once again hit her with all the mixed messages. I rushed to her side to pick her up, embracing her in the process, then refused to sleep next to her when she asked.
Having her in my space confirmed something I’ve been fighting for a while.
I want her.
More than I want anything else in my life right now. And it sucks doing the right fucking thing. Turning her down Saturday night was one of the hardest, and easiest, things I’ve ever had to do. Hard because she was staring up at me with her dazzling blue eyes boring into mine, her vulnerabilities on full display as she begged me to stay.Easybecause I would never take advantage of someone not of sound mind, and Keeley was more intoxicated than she was letting on.
If she’d been sober, she never would have asked me to stay like it was killing her if I didn’t. She would have sassed me. Told me the ball was in my court. Flirted.
And I have no doubt I would have given in.
If she hadn’t been drunk, I’m not sure I could have walked away.
But she was.
“Why would I tell you to fuck off?” She walks over to my couch and sits down like she always does, and my eyes follow her as I respond.
“For the other night.”
“For taking care of me?”
“No, you should be thanking me for that. Why didn’t you go home with the girls and—”Fuck. I sound like her father. “Ignore that. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
“You never got to do this with Paige, did you? Never picked her up drunk from a party?”
“Can you please not compare our situation with my situation with Paige?”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s my daughter, Keeley, and you’re…” I trail off because I’m not sure where I was going with that.
“I’m what?” She bounces her eyebrows and I huff out a laugh.
“A brat. That’s what you are.” Keeley snorts before standing again and walking closer to my desk, making me take a few steps back, moving under the guise that I need another drink.
“I’ve been called worse things.” She shrugs and my chest tightens.
“From whom? What?”
“It doesn’t matter. Why am I here?”
“Keels?”
“Come on. I have places to be.”
“Right. Okay.” The tightness in my chest morphs into a burn, and I ignore the fact that it could be considered jealousy.
“I thought we should talk.”
“Talk?”
