Page 20 of Hard to Handle

I bring a hand to my chest as if it’s going to allow me to catch my breath, when I know it’s not going to do shit.

When I know falling for Hunter isn’t going to make him want any more from me than the hot sex we find ourselves in. Even if he did, we’d crash and burn into an ugly mess before we even began.

How did I let this happen?

I take my time getting dressed. Each item of clothing I put on, I talk myself out of my revelation. I haven’t fallen for him. This is just sex. We’d never work. He doesn’t do relationships.

I almost believe it, until I walk into the room and see him. His pants are pulled on but unbuttoned, his chest is bare, and a bottle of beer is in one hand when he looks up to meet my eyes. Every part of me wants to go and kiss those lips, run my fingers through his hair, and tell him I want more with him. Six months flew by and doesn’t seem like enough.

And then the truth is clear. My heart already hurts. My head is already spinning. The words I need to say—to tell him I’ve fallen for him—die without ever finding sound. He’s not in this like I am. He’s not ready for more.

His eyes narrow. “Where’re you going?”

“I’ve got stuff to do,” I stammer.

“Like . . .” He takes a few steps toward me.

I want to wake up next to you. At my place. At your place.

“Just things I forgot I needed to do. Deadlines.”

I want to learn about what it is that clouds your eyes and makes you go quiet.

“Deadlines?”

I want quiet nights with a glass of wine and you beside me.

“Yes.” I gather my things in measured movements, when all I want to do is shove them in the bag so I can rush out of here and let the tears fall. Even worse, I can feel the weight of his stare at my back, and I know he’s standing there watching me and wondering.

“Hey? What’s wrong?”

With a deep breath, I turn to face him. Standing a few feet before me, he’s throwing a shirt on, his hair has fallen over his forehead, but his eyes home in on mine.

Tears burn as my thoughts tumble and fight against the want to say them and the knowledge that they’ll only end in being hurt.

“Nothing.” I offer a tight smile.

“Dekker?”

I shake my head and swallow over the lump of emotion lodged in my throat. “This was a mistake. Again.” He chuckles over this ongoing banter we always have. I don’t sell the lie as well as I think I do, because his head tilts to the side. “But”—I look down to my purse strap in my hand and take a deep breath—“I don’t think we can do this anymore.” Because I hate saying goodbye to you. “We always said we’d know when this had run its course, and I think it finally has. You know, you and me and this.” Because it’s easier to walk away now than to confess my feelings for you and be destroyed when you reject me.

“What do you mean this has run its course?” He takes a step toward me.

“Just what it sounds like.” I offer a laugh that has no resonance. My smile warms but only by sheer force when I take a step toward him. “Don’t you think it’s better to part ways now, like it is with us . . . actually liking each other?”

Confusion etches the lines of his face as he leans his hips against the dresser behind us. “If that’s what you want.”

Ask me to stay.

“I think it’s for the best.” I nod to reinforce my clipped words.

Tell me this is more than sex.

“Okay then.” He runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath that fills the room and suffocates my heart. “If you’re sure. I mean . . .”

Agree that I forgot our rules—no emotions, no obligations—and tell me you want more than this.

In what feels like the hardest thing in the world, I step up and press a kiss to his cheek. I let his arms slide around me and pull me into him. It’s the kind of bear hug that you can lose and find yourself in. It’s the kind that tells you you’re loved and that the person cares for you.