Page 47 of Maybe You

Somehow, he’s in front of me, and now this is straight-up humiliating. I pretty much threw myself at him last night, and now I can’t take a hint and am doing it again, even though he’s not interested, and instead of even a smidge of interest about the prospect of sleeping with me, he’s eyeing me with concern. Fucking concern!

And to top it off, I’m all out of steam now this explosion of emotions and words and humiliation has subsided, even if my chest is rising and falling rapidly, and my whole face feels blazing hot.

I look away from him, and my face gets even hotter.

“I should go,” I mutter and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I say dully. “I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you. Let’s just forget this ever happened, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

I start to move, but he grabs my arm and stops me.

“No, I don’t think so,” he says when I look up from where he’s holding on to my arm to his face. “You’re not running away. We’re having a conversation.”

“We were having a conversation. We’re done now.”

“Nuh-uh. I have no idea which way is up with you right now.”

“I already said I was sorry.” Once again, I fail to sound composed. Goddamnit!

“Sure.” Sutton nods. “And you also threw a lot of words at me, and I’d like to get to the bottom of it.”

I clamp my mouth shut. I’ve already dug myself into a hole so deep I can barely see the light. No way in hell am I going to pick up a shovel again.

“Wren,” he says softly. Coaxingly.

I really should have run when I still had a chance. I figured if I asked him to sleep with me it’d be a done deal. I didn’t expect him to refuse in the first place, and I sure as fuck didn’t count on the ‘no’ coming with a heaping portion of humiliation.

He tilts his head until he catches my eye. He’s still frowning, pure worry in his gaze like he’s not sure why I’ve suddenly gone insane, but he’s determined to somehow help. It’s the patience in his look that breaks the seal.

“It’s supposed to be a test run,” I blurt.

I think most people would be confused and then offended.

Sutton isn’t.

Somehow, he effortlessly picks up what I’m trying to say.

“You wanted to test run sex with me?” he asks.

If he laughs, I’m out of here.

I underestimate him, though. If anything, he’s still just curious.

I wince and give a miserable nod. “Yes.”

“Because?” he asks.

“You offered?” I shrug.

“I did.”

We’re silent for a little bit.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” I say in a low voice, and I force myself to meet his gaze while I do it. “And… I’m not very nice to look at.”

He doesn’t storm to argue and reassure me that I really am an exceptional beauty and so on. I’m really not after that. His main reaction to what I said is a slightly quirked brow.

I blow out a breath and take a step back to give myself some room.

I hesitate.

---