Page 81 of The Wrong Heart

“What?”

She looks like she might burst into tears, and I’d be fucking lying if I said it didn’t do something to me. Pushing through the unfamiliar feelings, I shake my head, throwing daggers at her. “Stay the fuck away, all right?”

Melody wraps her arms around herself like a protective shield, trying to reject my venom. “What did I do?”

“Whathaven’tyou done? You just keep poking me—you keep invading,intruding, trying to find a way in. You’re a goddamn nuisance.”

I sling my barbed wire words at her, and I think they cut us both.

But goddammit, this is for the best. It can end now, or it can end later, and it’s going to cut a hell of a lot deeper later.

Melody’s gasp of surprise mingles with the light rainfall, and she jerks her head away from my hard gaze, biting into her lip. “I don’t understand,” she says in a broken whisper.

“That’s the point. You don’t understandme. You never will, so it’s better if you just stay the fuck away.”

She shakes her head with disbelief, still avoiding my stare. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah,” I bite out, continuing my backward trek to shore. “Looks like you dodged a bullet.”

I don’t wait for her response, and I can’t stomach anymore of her bitter tears, so I spin around and stomp my way through the lake until I breach the shoreline.

Then I remember I left my goddamn truck at the support meeting.

Fuck me.

Growling my frustration, I make a mental note to avoid dramatic exits in the future when I have no means of exit, especially while drenched in piss water and seaweed, fishing undiscovered lake species out of my boxers.

It’s a miserable four-mile walk to my truck, and I’d like to say it’s for all of the above-mentioned reasons.

But it’s mostly because I can’t get that damn look in her eyes out of my head.

Two hours later, I’m finally home, showered, pissed off, and pent-up. Walden lies at my feet, his chin resting between two hairy paws as he gazes up at me slumped on the couch.

I’m just kind of staring off into space, replaying the night in my head, wondering how I got myself into this absolute shit-show.

I decide to break it down by facts.

Fact number one: I’m attracted to Melody.

As much as I want to live in my fantasy world of denial and pretend that it’s all just a giant fluke, the truth is pathetically obvious. I’m fucking attracted to her.

My dick likes what it sees, and it wants to see more.

Fact.

Fact number two: I don’t like women.

Except… I like Bree and always have, and I sure seem to like Melody, and hell, even Amelia is growing on me. And fine—Ms. Katherine isn’t so bad either, especially today when she brought in little deli trays of assorted submarine sandwiches and a fruit platter.

So, maybe that’s not a fact. I’m going to skip that one for now.

Fact number three: I like people who feed me.

Fact number four: Emotions are garbage, and I’m incapable of genuine connection. Therefore, pursuing my attraction to Melody is a catastrophic mistake.

The woman has been through enough grief and heartache to last a lifetime, and if tonight were any indication of how a possible tryst would unfold, it would be in her best interest to stay the fuck away from me. I’m only going to drag her down and drown her in my own ocean of misery.

What kind of sexual relationship could we even have, anyway? How would she feel screwing a guy who detests intimacy and refuses to take his shirt off?

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