“I—”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. We knew this was one weekend, and it was a great one.”
He nods, and I have to look away because even though I knew, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Yeah, except, I don’t want one weekend,” he says quickly.
I glance up as he steps toward me.
“I don’t know what this is, and I can’t give it a name or give you some big commitment that you’re looking for, but I know that one weekend with you isn’t enough for me.”
He’s so honest about where he stands. It makes me want him even more than before. He isn’t trying to trick me or lead me on, he just tells me the raw, honest truth.
And as much as I know I should say I can’t do that because I want commitment, the words leave my mouth as if I have no control.
“It’s not enough for me either.”
He grins. “Good.”
Then he grabs his things and backs up to the door.
“Leave your bedroom light on tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
He rushes to me for one more kiss and then jogs out the door.
I should know that I’ve just set myself up for failure, but all I can think about is this man who makes me feel not so alone anymore.
It’s a nice feeling. Too nice, and one I’m not ready to let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SIMON
By Sunday afternoon, I’m going crazy looking for a reason to be around Greer. I realize that whatever is happening between us will more than likely end up complicated, but she’s this new light in my life.
Maybe somewhere along the way, if she’s around enough, the part of my brain that keeps telling me I can’t have a happily ever after will fade. You’d think it would be that easy to change my own fate, but it’s not. I had the chance once, and it was taken from me. I won’t go through that again.
I glance up just in time to see the football Grey tossed flying at my face. I barely catch it.
“Dad, pay attention,” he says, as if he’s the parent and not me.
“Sorry, bud.”
He turns to Greer’s house behind me.
“Why do you keep looking at Greer’s house?” he asks, and I chuckle. I have to remind myself that this kid is eleven, and he’s a lot smarter than I give him credit for.
I shrug and toss the ball back.
“I’m just distracted.”
“By Greer,” he says as more of a fact than a question as he catches the ball.
“By a lot of things.”
He throws again, this one a lot harder than the last and resulting in a loud smack against my palms.
