Page 91 of Dirty Grovel

He looks out into the sea. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“Only because you’re a decent man who loved his sister and his girlfriend!” I say fiercely. “You have survivor’s guilt?—”

“They would be alive if it hadn’t been for me, Sutton! I’m the one who made the changes to the engine that resulted in it combusting?—”

“I don’t care!” I practically scream.

He studies me. “Maybe you should.”

I shake my head. “I finally get it.”

“What do you get?”

“Why you need contracts and lawyers and NDA’s before you can have anything remotely resembling a relationship with a woman.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me. Others have tried and?—”

Ignoring that, I talk over him. “It’s because you feel you don’t deserve anything real. So you hide behind your contracts to make sure that whatever you have with a woman is ‘fake.’”

“That’s me all figured out, isn’t it?” he deadpans. “You’ve got it sorted.”

“Not even close,” I whisper. “But it’s one part of the puzzle that makes a little more sense to me now.”

His eyebrows flatline as he turns from me. “It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”

“You’re just proving my point, you know,” I call out, following him towards the cabin. “But pushing me away isn’t going to work anymore, Oleg. I see you. I fuckingseeyou. You’re not a monster and you’re certainly not a beast.”

He spins around, eyes flashing, nostrils flared. “Maybe you’re just seeing what you want to see.”

“Or maybe I’m seeing whatyoudon’t want to see.”

“Which is what?”

“That you’relonely!” I cry. “And you don’t want to be anymore!”

He veers back. “Christ, woman! Are you stupid? This is just you, grasping at straws, trying to turn the Beast into Prince Charming to fulfill this moony-eyed fantasy you have of a happily-ever-after.”

“That’s not?—”

“That’s the difference between us. We’re both fucked up. But at least IknowI’m fucked up.”

Vengeful heat spreads through my body. I want to punch him just as much as I want to kiss him.

We stand there, squared off as though weapons are about to be drawn. There are a hundred different insults running through my head. A dozen different ways I can think of to wound him.

But fucked up as I might be—I’m still self-aware enough to know that I don’t want to wound him.

Not really.

Not in any way that matters.

“Okay.” I gulp and nod. “I’ll accept that. I’m fucked up. You say you are, too.” I slip a little closer towards him and take his hand. “So maybe… we can be fucked up together?”

Silence. He stares at me as though I’ve grown a second head.

If I have, I hope it’s more sensible than the one I’ve already got on my shoulders.

Then, finally, his eyes soften.

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