Page 119 of The Dare

His throat dips as he swallows. “I got hammered and it happened. She took me to a bedroom to do more, but I couldn’t go through with it—physically or emotionally. Honestly, though, it was more of a physical impairment. I might’ve gone through with it if the equipment was working.”

I nod slowly.

“I wasn’t thinking straight. Then afterward, I felt sick about it. It wasn’t like I set out to find a revenge lay or to get over you with someone else. I was hurt, confused, pissed off, so all I wanted to do was drink my feelings. Shit got out of control.”

“We were broken up,” I tell him sincerely. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I do. I want to. Because I don’t want any more secrets. Not mine, anyway. I don’t want you to ever have a reason to doubt or mistrust me.”

“I do trust you.”

He looks up, and in his cool gray eyes I see the wounds I’ve inflicted. The insecurity I’ve instilled. A month ago I would have said Conor Fucking Edwards was impervious to everyone and everything. Completely immune to heartache.

I was wrong.

“Then why?” he asks roughly. “Why did breaking up seem like the only solution?”

“Because it’s what I’ve always done. I hide.” Shame clamps around my throat. “Hiding felt like the safer option, the path of least embarrassment. Just cut ties and escape and everything will be okay.”

“I wish you’d trusted that I would be there for you.”

My eyes widen. “God, no, you don’t get it—I had no doubt you’d be there. That was the one thing IknewI could trust. But I didn’t want to put you through all that.”

I swallow hard because suddenly my throat feels too tight and dry.

“I need you to know something,” I start. Gulp again. “I didn’t mean any of those awful things I said to you. I only said them because I needed you to accept the breakup. It was wrong and hurtful and I’m so sorry I didn’t have the nerve to tell you the truth.” Tears sting my eyelids. “I was afraid of what you’d think of me, that you’d be embarrassed by me. It was humiliating enough to deal with all this myself. I didn’t want to make it your problem, too. Didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“I only see you.” He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over the inside of my wrist. “Just as you are. I don’t imagine you as some impossible ideal. To me you’re…real.” His lips quirk in a half-smile. “Stubborn, opinionated, pushy, funny, intelligent, kind, too hard on herself, snarky, sarcastic, jaded, yet somehow a closeted optimist. I fell in love with you for you, T. Nothing you could say or do would embarrass me. Ever.”

“Considering how we met, right?” I say, smiling.

“I knew you were nervous. Scared shitless, even.” His thumb continues its soft caresses across my skin, lulling me into a calm I haven’t felt in days. “Still, you were brave and so refreshingly honest. I was having dirty thoughts about you right away, but my favorite thing about you that first night was that you were completely unpretentious.”

“Yeah, it was pretty much the hair for me,” I say solemnly. “Oh, and the abs. The abs are good too.”

Conor laughs, shaking his head. “You’re such a brat.”

“For real, though, I’m sorry. For all of it. I freaked out and made a rash decision. It just seemed like the only thing I could do at the time.” I put on a firm tone. “I need you to know that I’m on board with whatever career path you choose. Youdohave prospects, and whatever you decide willalwaysbe good enough for me. That bullshit I fed you when I ended it was just that—bullshit. I didn’t mean a single word of it.”

He laces his fingers through mine, squeezing. “I get it. We both made mistakes.”

“Thank you for sticking by my side even though I was pushing you away. For not turning your back on me.”

“Never.”

Leaning in, I place a kiss on his lips.

He hesitates, just for a beat. Then, as if he’s suddenly convinced it’s really happening, his hands go to my ribs and pull my body against his. His kiss is soft but greedy. Sweet hunger and gentle need.

“I still love you,” he whispers against my mouth.

“I still love you,” I whisper back.

Getting to my knees, I straddle his lap as he slides to lie back against the armrest. My fingers tangle in the long, silky strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“Is it too late to plead temporary insanity?” I ask.

“I thought we were going to pretend the whole breakup was a vivid fever dream.” Conor’s thumbs drag slow, agonizing strokes under my breasts.

---