Page 52 of I Still Love You

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“To say a word and not be heard. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

“Still not picking up.”

“These situations keep coming up where you’re putting yourself at risk of losing so much, and yet you just won’t fucking listen to them. You won’t tap into your head and ask yourself why you’re submitting to them or what the root cause is. You keep allowing your shitty actions to control your life.”

I suck air through my teeth. There’s no doubt about it that I’ve been letting my actions control my life. Worse than that, I’ve been letting unfinished business from the past affect me. Layla left me, walked out of my life when we were supposed to be starting one together.

It broke me in a way I haven’t been able to fix. Hell, I don’t know the first step to take, but Mason is right. At some point, I need to listen, to be aware enough so I can move forward.

Something needs to give.

I can’t keep reacting with my fists.

I can’t lose everything I’ve worked so damn hard for because Layla broke my heart.

“Mase, I gotta go.”

“Please tell me you heard me, that you’re not going to ignore me when you know what I just said is true.”

“I’m not—I heard you loud and clear. I have shit I need to work through, and I need to go deal with it, and I will.”

“When?”

“Tonight,” I promise. “I’m seeing her tonight, and I’ll deal with it, okay?”

“Shit, this isn’t going to end well, is it?”

I place a hand on Jett’s shoulder, distracting him from the conversation he’s having with Henderson, Tilly, and Tilly’s girlfriend. “I’ll be back.”

“Yeah, okay, man,” he says, then turns back to his conversation with them. I think they’re talking about a Pledge of Commitment game they played recently, and it reminds me of the one we have coming up. As fast as it comes to mind, it leaves, because all I can see is the woman who has owned me for the better part of the last two years. I ended my call with Mason twenty excruciating minutes ago and have been waiting for her to show up ever since.

Standing next to the hostess desk, she’s wearing a subtle yet sexy as fuck outfit that has my eyes traveling the length of her body for a beat too long. The bare shoulder from her one-shoulder spandex top is worse than your average cleavage shot, and it takes me back to that lab room where I put my lips on her, making me what to do it again.

My fingers flex in the pockets of my jeans. My eyes glide down her exposed, sleek legs, and I have to push down the groan wanting to escape. Oh, and the black leather shorts she’s wearing? They’re my new favorite. They override the daisy dukes and awaken my cock, arousal pooling in my balls when I think about what it’d be like to peel them from her legs. I’m thankful as shit that she hasn’t turned around yet, that she hasn’t noticed me standing off to the side ogling her impeccable body.

I need to keep my wits about me, need to focus, but checking her out for a minute won’t hurt, right?

“I’m sorry,” the hostess apologizes, staring down at the tablet resting on the stand. “What party are you looking for?”

“Um…that’s actually a really good question,” Layla replies, pulling her phone from her bag and shooting off a quick text that I already know is coming to me. “One second.”

My phone sounds in my back pocket, and Layla twists, spotting me. I tilt my head, maintaining my composure and avoiding checking her out again. Not because I’m afraid of her seeing, but because we’re balancing on one narrow beam, and if either of us gives too much, we’ll fall. I can’t say, for sure, that either of us would survive if that happened.

“Oh, hey,” she greets, stepping away from the hostess stand. Unlike the last few days, her eyes light up at the sight of me. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hit my sensitive side, knowing that it’s aimed directly at me. I’m glad to see she’s finally feeling better. There’s a lilt in her voice that wasn’t there when I dropped by her house that day.

“We’re at a table back near the bar,” I tell her as I inch closer. I want all the fuckboys in this joint to see her and me so close and understand that she’s unavailable—even if she isn’t. The last thing I need is to see another dude approaching her when I’m trying to get a handle on myself. Not that I would lay a hand on someone for talking to her, but it sure as shit wouldn’t be good for my head or my heart. Not when it’s tugging me closer to her as each day passes, or when I’ve finally accepted that she’s the culprit behind the shift in my demeanor these last two years.

Her lustrous blue eyes gaze into mine. “Oh, good. The hostess asked me the party name, and I couldn’t recall you telling me there was one.”

“There isn’t. We usually just scope the place when we come out, but I realized it might be hard for you to pick us out in a crowd.” This odd energy buzzes between us, and it has me fingering the loose thread in my pockets as chatter surrounds us. If I feel it, can she? Does she get the impression that I’d love to circle my arms around her waist like I did the other night? That the possibility of me wanting to abandon everything I said in the past might be on the horizon?

I’m careful when I reach out and rest a finger under her chin. My gaze volleys between her eyes, then down to her lips. “You good?”

“Luke, I’m okay,” she assures. “This is just…new, and after what happened last week…” Ever since Andrew, things have been different. We’re not here to prove to anyone we’re dating to keep up with our deal. We’re here because we want to be around each other, because it makes us feel something. It’s a stark contrast to not wanting to be around her a few weeks ago.

I move my hand to hers, softly hooking my index finger around hers and pulling. “You don’t have to do this,” I tell her. “I can follow you home to make sure you get home safe, and we can forget about it.”

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