Page 115 of The Rom-Commers

“Emma,” Charlie said, with a tone likeDon’t.

Don’t what?Don’t get your feelings hurt? Don’t overreact?

Don’t walk away?

Charlie was gaining on me, and I wasn’t sure what I would do when he caught up.

I just needed a minute to regroup and hide all my feelings behind a mask of indifference—a minute that Charlie wasn’t giving me.

Which seemed wildly impolite.

A minute to hide! Was that so much to ask for?

But that’s when Charlie caught my arm and tugged it.

I stopped and let him turn me around.

I could have ripped out of his grasp and taken off sprinting, I guess. But the game was already up. I was a writer, not an actor. My hurt and disappointment and infinite vulnerabilities were plain to see in every possible way.

The sight of my face just confirmed it all for Charlie.

I watched him reading me in real time.

“Did I—disappoint you just then?” Charlie asked.

I looked down. “No,” I said. But it was an obviousyes.

“Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, but I didn’t meet his eyes.

“Did youwantto do that research kiss?”

“No.” Not convincing.

“Emma…” Charlie said, taking in all this new information.

Finally, I brought my eyes up.

Charlie was leaning in with concern. And intensity. And maybe a whole new understanding of who he had become to me.

He took a step forward—and then it was my turn to take a step back.

“Are you pitying me right now?” I asked.

He took another step closer, and this time, I backed into the kitchen doorjamb.

“It’s fine,” I insisted. “I don’t care.” But I was such a bad liar.

When he took a final step, there was nowhere for me to go.

He closed the gap and leaned in closer. “I didn’t want to kiss you—” he started.

“Yeah. I got that. Thank you.”

But Charlie gave a sharp headshake, like I hadn’t let him finish. “For research.”

I held very still.

---