Page 176 of Bad for Me

I'm not ashamed because I fell in love with a man, or even that I had sex with him wherever I wanted to in my own damn house. I'm not ashamed of Ian.

I'm ashamed that I didn't have a stronger resolve, that I succumbed to weakness. That I turned out to be a pathetic, weak, pervy old guy that preyed on someone half my age. That I snuck around and lied to my son with his best friend. I'm ashamed that I turned my attention on an inappropriate partner. I’ve probably ruined the special bond he had with the closest friend he’s ever had.

And I'm especially ashamed that I will probably pine for Ian Parrish for the rest of my life.

I don't notice that he's sitting on the other side of the room until his phone chimes. His facial expression is guarded as he types out a text then tucks the phone in his pocket. He glances over at me, and I'm struck by the pain and anguish in his blue eyes. A tear tracks over his cheek, and I have to look away. Because I'm weak.

Michael hovers halfway down the staircase, looking like he'd rather walk into a pit of vipers than be in the same room with us. With me.

My eyes sting, and my heart beats too hard. I feel like I can't catch my breath. I might be sick if I don't get away from the smell of the disinfectant and get some fresh air, but I can't get the words out to say where I'm going or what I'm doing. I stumble as I stand and make a beeline for the closest door, not making eye contact with Michael as I pass the stairs.

Hand on the doorknob, I freeze when Ian blurts out, "I meant it." I’m assuming he’s referring to whatever text exchange happened a minute ago. Maybe an apology.

Not meeting anyone's eyes, I look back over my shoulder. Michael sighs exasperatedly. My hand turns the knob, not wanting to stick around to hear all the reasons this is fucked up.

"Dude. I know you've had the hots for my dad since?—"

"No, Mike. I'min lovewith him. I'm in love with Henry."

Wait.

"Really?" The cautiously hopeful word slips from me before I can suppress it. I'm afraid to open myself up to the possibility that he could mean it, or that maybe he’s just being impulsive. But what if he felt what I've been feeling? What if this weekend changed his entire world the way it did mine? My entire brain chemistry changed. And as fucked up as it is, as impossible as it seems that this could go on—I'm not ready to let this go.

Because I love him. And I've never felt complete the way I have since he came barging into my life.

"Yes, really.” He scoffs. “You know, for someone asexperienced with lifeas you are, you'd think you'd have figured that out sooner."

"You think that's funny right now?"

He smirks, and I can't decide if I want to kiss him or throw him out of my house.

Before I can decide, Michael plants his ass on the stairs and groans loudly, rubbing his hands over his face and pulling at his hair. "This isn't happening," he says, the words muffled in his hands. He sounds exhausted. Exasperated.Amused?

With one hand held to his temple, he looks up at me, holding my eyes for a moment. Then he turns his head to look at Ian, who's moved to the bottom of the staircase. He points at his best friend, holding his finger in the air in front of him accusingly. Michael looks like he has a lot to say, but he's holding it in, and rolls his lips inward before pulling his hand back. Finally, he raises both of his hands in front of him, almost in surrender.

"I literally don't know what to say."

I open my mouth to apologize, but Ian cuts me off.

"Don't do that. Don't say you're sorry." He's not grinning anymore. He looks hurt.

Ian turns his attention to Michael, boring into him with a gaze more serious than I knew he was capable of.

"For real?" Michael says.

"For real," Ian replies.

Michael turns to me. "Dad?"

My eyes burn, and I shrug helplessly. "He lights me up."

Because I can't help it, I am irrevocably in love with his idiotic, sarcastic, insanely hot best friend. I bite my lip and close my eyes to avoid letting any tears spill out.

When I open my eyes, I'm looking into the deep blue eyes of Ian. As much as I want to talk to Michael about his feelings on the matter, to apologize to him for sneaking around the way we have, this conversation is really between Ian and me. He deserves to hear it from me directly.

He beats me to it.

"You love me," Ian says firmly, like he's trying to tell me something I don't already know.

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