Page 85 of Grace on the Rocks

“It’s not you, okay?It’sme,” she tried again, but her words sounded sharp and trite even though she meant them sincerely.Itwasher.Shewas the problem.

He glared at her.

“I really have to go,” she muttered and scurried into the house, straight to her bedroom where she could spend the night alone, hating herself, wishing she were more like him, more likeWesley, who was probably having causal island sex with a handsomeScotwho was definitely not a priest right this very minute.

But that wasn’tGrace.Ithad never beenGrace.Andshe knew it never would be.

* * *

Safe inside her bedroom,she leaned back against the door.

She wasn’t going to cry—not because she’d wrecked the kissing and definitely not because he was angry at her for pushing him away.Betterhe be angry now than later.Somehowa guy being pissed at you when you still had your clothes on didn’t sting quite as much.

And honestly, whatrightdid he have to be mad?

Did he think she was leading him on when she succumbed to his kisses?Washe out there right now calling her a cocktease?Becausefuck that.Atleast she hadn’t accidentally groped him this time.Wasit her fault he looked irresistible in a kilt?Wasshe supposed to resist him anyway if she had no intention of putting out?

SisterMaryAgneswould say yes.

SisterMaryAgneswould say she should have resisted every temptation so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea, and maybe she should have, but damn.Didthat mean the only reason he begged her to go to the ceilidh at all was so he could get in her pants later?Wasshe not allowed to have any fun ever because of the strings that might be attached?

She racked her memory, trying to decide who had leaned in first.Ifit was her, then it was her fault for leading him on, and if it was him, then it was her fault for not running away sooner, according toSisterMaryAgnes.

Grace had never likedSisterMaryAgnes.

“You’re spiraling,” she told herself. “Thisis not helpful.”

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to stop.

So what if he had expectations?Shehad consented to kissing and nothing else.Hishurt feelings were not her responsibility.Right?

She could barely look him in the eye when she stopped him, her hand on his chest like she hadn’t just been contemplating ripping his whole shirt off, as she confessed to lying about her period before.Then, when she tried to explain how she wasn’t like everyone else, and he got so quiet, she had allowed herself one quick glance, hoping for a sign he understood.Onlyshe didn’t see empathy and understanding.Hedidn’t look angry yet either, no—in that split second when his expression changed from mischievous to completely closed off, what she saw looked more like a flicker of pain, and she had put it there on his beautiful face.

He had tried to hide it immediately, but she knew.

He was disappointed by her change of heart, and honestly, maybe it was unfair, but she was disappointed in him for feeling that way.

Of course, the rejection must have stung his ego, especially tonight on the heels of being spurned by his neighbors and family.Butthis wasn’t about him.Itwas never about them.

God, what terrible timing.

What an absolute mess.

Why couldn’t she be brave enough, find better words to explain?Wouldit have made any difference if she had?

She’d known from the start it was a mistake to have any level of involvement with this guy.Shehad known, and she’d done it anyway, and the worst part of it was she didn’t just like him.She’dallowed him to become a friend—a real one—someone to keep in touch with for years to come, but now it wasJustinEverettall over again.

Even the flash of pain in his eyes reminded her of the lookJustingave her in ninth grade when she had told him she was sorry the other boys were picking on him but she couldn’t possibly send him a naked photo of herself.Shehad expected understanding that time, too, even an apology for asking.Instead, her refusal had been the lever that started the unraveling of an almost ten-year friendship.

Justin was her first best friend.Hewas her first partner in crime, first crush, first heartbreak.

In the end, though, when she wouldn’t do what he wanted, none of the rest of it mattered.Butthat look of pain and disappointment in his eyes, like he was the one who’d been hurt while she was trying to pretend away the betrayal—that look still haunted her, and it mirrored what she saw onBryan’sface tonight, and quite honestly, fuck both of them to the moon.

ChapterTwenty-Two

The fire smoldered down to embers, but stillBryansat, watching as the sparks died out one by one.Atleast the biochar had worked, so the night wasn’t a complete failure.Itgave off an appealing scent, though of course the true test would be in the barley flavors it evoked, but he was definitely on the right track.

Too bad he couldn’t seem to enjoy it.

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