Page 40 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

“I might have a bump in the morning, but I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” Then, because it seems like the right thing to say, I ask, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are the rest of the balloons?”

Theo snorts softly. “I dropped them when you tripped.”

“You mean whenyougrabbed me?”

“Yeah, that.”

Just like that, this feels like the funniest thing in the world. Here we are, longtime foes, accidentally tangled in the shadows for the second—no, third—time. Why does this keep happening?

I expect Theo to immediately attempt escape again, and I’m prepared to viciously bicker with him as we figure out how to extricate ourselves from this trap.

Instead, he remains still. I lift my face. My eyes have adjusted to the dark just enough to see the faintest gleam of his green eyes in the dark and the subtle glow of his golden hair, which looks more silvery in the night. If I didn’t know that he was such a grouch, he might remind me of sunshine. Or maybe something more like moonlight.

I don’t know how many seconds pass as we simply stare at each other in complete silence. Yet, just like in the basement,heis the one who breaks it.

His lips part, and I tell myself that the only reason I look down at his mouth is because it’s right in my direct line of sight.

“I…” Theo pauses, swallows hard. “I wanted to tell you something.”

I’m suddenly aware of the fact that he’s still touching my waist—one hand resting there as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m shocked to discover that I don’t mind the weight of his warm hand against the cool silk of my clothing. I don’t mind it at all.

Except, this isTheo Danvers. He hates me. Therefore, by default, I hate him. And he hurt my fragile teenage feelings so acutely that I can still recall the potent sting of it twelve years later.

I shouldn’t be so breathless right now. My heart shouldn’t be beating so fast. I shouldn’t be gazing into his eyes, eager to hear whatever words might drip from his lips like honey.

“Oh?” I prompt him.

He nods. “At Camp Hannefort, when we played that game… in Cabin B…”

“Theo, you don’t have to—”

“No, listen,” he murmurs, his voice somehow both gentle and harsh. This man is a walking contradiction, and yet I’m just now realizing how oddly alluring it is. “What happened back then… it wasn’t personal.”

“It’s fine, Theo.”

He ignores me. “I was having a hard time that summer. I mean, I guess we were all having a hard time, given that it was divorce camp, but my point is that I was struggling with some serious anxiety that summer. That, and my teenage angst dial was turned, like, all the way up.”

Did he just make a joke? A chuckle slips past my lips, mostly from surprise. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a tiny smile for the briefest of moments, then he grows serious again.

“The guys practically dragged me to the cabin that night. I didn’t do well with forced socialization. I guess I still don’t, but it was really bad back then. The stuff with my mom… I just really don’t like attention. I prefer to fly under the radar.”

His mom, also known as Daphne Shay. She’s a Hollywood legend. I completely forgot about that.

Suddenly, certain things about him are starting to make a lot more sense. His reclusiveness. His tendency to flinch whenever more than one pair of eyes landed on him.

“I see,” I murmur, because I don’t know what else to say.

“I also have a bit of claustrophobia. Thanks to Dr. Sans, I learned that summer that it’s mostly because I don’t like feeling out of control.”

I sigh heavily. “I remember that old man. He was too smart for his own good. Thanks to him, I’ve been carrying around the knowledge that my lighthearted approach to life is actually just emotional flippancy employed as a defense mechanism. If I act like nothing matters, I won’t get hurt. At least, that’s the goal.”

---