Page 91 of Tough Nut to Crack

"I was agreeable that night at your house, and once again, the closet thing was more inexperience rather than not wanting it to happen."

"I think a lot of shit would've been solved if we'd actually talked to each other."

"You think?" Iscoff.

"You took off yesterday," he says.

"I didn't want you to tell me we couldn't continue."

A crease forms between his eyebrows. "Couldn't continue? I fucking claimed you, Riley. I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone in my life. Despite how I acted in high school, my attraction to you has never waned. Do you know how many hours I've laid awake in your guest bedroom fighting the urge to climb into your bed?"

"This can't be all about sex, Mac. I need more than that. I deserve more than that."

"Is that what you think it is?"

"Isn't it?" I add, a hint of attitude coming out in my tone.

"No," he answers quickly. "I mean, the sex with you is out of this world, but I just want you near me. I want your skin touching mine. I want our hearts to regulate so that they pound at the same rate. I want your hands on my back when we shower. I want to smile at you from across the breakfast table. I want a fucking life with you, Riley, and it terrifies me."

I shake my head, certain that I'm hearing things wrong. There's no way this man is telling me that he wants the same things I've wanted from him all these years.

"My heart is telling me to jump," I confess. "But my head is telling me that you're going to hurt me."

He scoots in a little closer and I immediately drop my eyes to my lap.

"Look at me," he urges, and it takes a few breaths before I can lift my gaze to his. "I love you, so don't take this the wrong way, but you may need a few more sessions with that therapist."

"What?"

"You said we all need a little therapy—"

"No," I snap. "The other part."

"I love you."

The words roll off his tongue as if he's been saying them to me his entire life, but that doesn't stop the tremble that sets into my hands.

"Does that freak you out to hear them as much as it freaks me out to say them?"

"A little," I confess.

"I don't use the words lightly," he assures me.

Tears burn my eyes briefly before cresting and running down my cheeks.

"And I've managed somehow to fuck this up all over again," he whispers, using his thumb to swipe over my wet cheek. "Saying it wasn't supposed to make you cry."

I open my mouth to speak but emotion clogs my throat so thoroughly that nothing comes out.

His face is a solid mask of concern.

"Please, don’t cry," he says, wiping another tear from my face. "You'll have to help me out here, baby. I'm not fully understanding why you're crying. Are you upset I said it?"

I manage to shake my head.

"Do you mean it?" I ask, unsure if I should trust the words.

Part of me wants to run for the hills, terrified that I'm going to get hurt. But the majority of my mind and body want to do backflips, something I know I'm not physically capable of, although his loving me might make it possible.

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