Page 2 of Need You to Choose Me

I call bullshit.

He’s nothing but a scared little boy.

“This isn’t just in my head,” I tell him, refusing to let the quake that’s stirring my heart rise up my throat. I need to stay strong so he knows he can’t hurt me.

Even if he is.

He’s fucking torturing me with his calculated nonchalance. Like this has all been some big joke to him. Like I’m just another way to pass the time in between games, practice, and classes. I know better than to think I’m only mild entertainment. He can pretend that he’s too big for Lindon University and everybody here, but it’s all a façade.

The amused sound he makes gives me pause as I glance up through my lashes in his direction. He’s grabbing his keys from the top of his dresser and shaking his head at whatever thought crosses his mind. His hair has the just-had-sex look that’s always made him ten times sexier to me. Especially when I’m the one who gives those dark locks their tousled look.

My fingers stop at the button of my jeans as he slowly looks over his shoulder at me and says, “I don’t love you, Olive. It was never going to be that deep for me. Not with you.”

Not with you.

For a moment, I leave my body.

The only thing grounding me back to reality are the tears that prickle the back of my eyes, burning the ducts as I blink rapidly to fight them off. My nose tickles with onslaught emotion, but I force myself to take a deep breath and nod like what he says makes sense.

Even though I’m worth it—the fight, the energy, the effort. He may be going to play in the NHL like he’s always wanted, but I’ll always be worth more than him. Because I have a big heart that’s full of so much love. The kind he doesn’t want.

Not with you.

As if he didn’t already wedge a knife into my heart, he decides to twist the handle until the blade obliterates what little respect I have left for him with a single sentence. “So maybe itwasall in your head.”

Oxygen clings to my vocal cords as I stare at the soon-to-be drafted hockey player. The sexiest man I know. Certainly, the best one I’ve ever slept with.

Alexander O’Conner doesn’t compare to any other man, and he never will. Not his looks. Not his skating ability on the ice and the strength he has to take down men twice his size to score a goal. Not that I’d ever tell my hockey-playing big brother that his teammate’s personality has always shone brighter than anyother human I’ve ever met. Alex’s determination to make it pro one day burned even brighter, so much so sometimes it blinded me.

I’ve always respected how much work he put into turning his dreams into reality. I always wondered what motivated him because I knew, deep down, something was pushing him.

The problem with him, though?

He’s also the biggest asshole ever.

Closed off. Unwilling to change. Never offering me more information than he needs to. Every time I think one of his barriers is down, I find another one. He’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

I’m suddenly reminded why my older brother, Sebastian, warned me away from his teammate in the first place. “I should have listened to my brother when he told me not to go near you,” I spit at him in anger.

I’m more angry at myself.

For putting myself in this position.

For falling in love with a man who’s too scared to love back.

I tighten my fingers into my palm, feeling my fingernails dig into my skin until they leave crescent indentations.

“I’ll drive you home,” the gas-lighter tells me in that gruff tone, gripping the car keys as he walks toward the door.

I stare at him for a brief moment before making my decision, silently willing him to turn around.

Look at me, dammit!

But he doesn’t.

Because if he did, I’d see that he’s lying.

That hedoescare.

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