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“Then who am I mad at?”
“Yourself. For never even trying to understand,” he says so matter-of-factly that it makes me want to smack that smirk off his face even more.
His response makes my stomach clench because he’s right. I am angry at myself for not seeing all the puzzle pieces that have been right in front of me this entire time.
“Now, I’ll move as soon as you answer one question.”
“Which is?”
“Why are you so angry that I showed up that night to ask you to prom, Lennon?”
I search his face as I consider my answer. “Because…well, because it would’ve explained why you ignored me for years.”
He nods. “Okay. I’ll give you that. But would it really have made a difference?”
“What? Yes. I mean…”
Conflict tightens his features as his gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts. “If you knew I wanted to go to prom with you, would it have changed the outcome, Lennon?”
My mind is frozen, his words casting an icy spell on my response.
Finally, I manage to squeak out, “I—I don’t know.”
“That’s what I thought.” He releases my chin, turns his back on me, and exits the closet without another word.
I stand there, stunned by how the conversation played out. I had every intention of making Easton feel guilty for the dissolution of our friendship. Yet somehow, he turned this back on me.
“So that’s it?” I call after him as my legs carry me into the main part of the bedroom.
Standing by his nightstand, he removes his watch and drops it into the small wooden bowl, then adds his wallet. “Yup.”
“Easton.”
When his gaze snaps to mine, my own earlier irritation is reflected back at me. “You got your answer, Lennon. It wouldn’t have changed anything because you never saw me that way, so…”
“I never allowed myself to see you that way!” I shout, cutting him off.
His gaze hardens. “What?”
“I couldn’t look at you that way, Easton.”
“Why?”
And that’s when the honesty pours out of me. “Because then you’d be like all the others—another bad choice I made—and I wanted you in my life more than I was willing to risk losing you!”
He crosses the space between us and I brace myself for his proximity, the tension in his body stretching his patience and control. For a moment, I’m terrified to hear what he has to say. But then I realize that I need his words right now. I need to know what my admission did to him.
“Well, you have me now, Lennon. You’re wearing my ring, you’re living in my home, and you’ve taken my last name. Does that mean you’re ready to let yourself see me that way?”
But I can’t answer that question.
Because a part of me isn’t ready to admit the truth—the truth that living with him, being married to him, and imagining myself as Mrs. Buckley terrifies me. I could let myself fall only to lose him all over again.
His relentless need to take care of me is such a turn-on that it’s making my desire for him grow at record speed. And honestly? His question shocked me. I’m not even sure what answer he wants from me.
He huffs a humorless laugh and heads for the dresser. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
I stand there, watching his every move as he strips off his shirt and tosses it in the corner, then unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down his legs.
