“Fuck, Bree, what do you want from me?” He kept underestimating her stubborn streak. “Do you miss us at all?” Eric continued.
Whatever excuse she was about to give him next died in her mouth.
“Every day,” she whispered.
That was so much more than he’d hoped to get from her. “Then why are we stuck here?” he asked.
“Habit? Self-defence? Fear? Take your pick.”
“None of the above,” Eric said. “Let’s stop. You said we can’t start over. But we can start fresh. What would it take to get you to agree to that?”
Bree closed her eyes. He saw a sheen that turned into tears on her lashes. “You don’t know what I went through. I don’t know if I have it in me.”
“What if you do and you don’t try?” he countered. He knew he wasn’t going to fuck things up. Not again. Never again. For her own good hadn’t been good for either of them. All he needed was one more shot with Bree. If she had the courage to give it to him. “We start small. One drink. Here. Tonight.” A drink tonight, a meal tomorrow, and back in his bed as soon as humanly possible. He’d thought he’d missed her over the past year, but walking away now was beyond him.
She sniffed through her tears. Almost a laugh. “I’m not sleeping with you,” Bree told him.
He probably shouldn’t have said that last thought out loud. But now she was warned.
