Page 4 of There's No Us Without You
So, when he leans in closer, his lips slightly parted, I’m almost certain I’m going to experience what it feels like to have that mouth on mine.
I brace myself for what’s to come by holding my breath.
Except, instead of giving me what I want, he pulls back and slowly releases a breath while scrubbing a hand over his face. A few of his curls fall over his forehead when he drops his chin to his chest and faces the front again.
“Fuck,” he says, before clearing his throat and running a finger around the top of his glass. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say, sniffing back my emotions.
My heart feels like it’s shrinking as a heaviness I’ve never felt before settles in my stomach. You’d think I’d already hit rock bottom, but this is worse.
It makes no sense—his rejection hurts.
A small sob escapes my throat, and I quickly turn my head and bury my face in my hands.
“Ah, shit,” the man says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to tug me to his side. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry.” I wipe the tears away with my fingertips. “This is so embarrassing.”
If my mother could see me now, she’d grab me by the shoulders, give me a slight shake and tell me to grow up.
Crying makes you weak, so suck it up.
With a warm hand, the man rubs the bare skin on my shoulder, the circular movement of his fingers bringing me a sliver of relief. It’s a slight gesture, but it means everything right now, especially when he knows nothing about me.
Sure, he just rejected me. He’s also shown me more compassion in sixty seconds than my mother has in twenty-two years.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “We’ve all been there.”
A snort escapes me at the same time as I release another sob. I can’t help but smile, if only slightly.
“What’s so funny?” He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, his eyes lit up by the colourful lights flashing around the room.
He looks like a painting, and I want to reach out to brush my fingertips over his skin. However, that would be super inappropriate, not to mention weird.
Instead, I reach for another napkin and dab it under my eyes. “I just can’t imagine you in a wedding dress.”
His mouth falls open as he presses a hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know I look fucking amazing in one, thank you very much.”
I don’t doubt that. Pretty sure he’d look amazing wearing a sack.
I sniff and wipe my nose with the soggy napkin. “You’ve tried one on?”
He nods, a small smile on his face. “It was for a Halloween party. There was blood and everything.”
That sounds like fun.
“I’ve never been to one,” I admit quietly, sounding every bit like the loser I am.
My mother controlled so much of my life—my first encounter with Kent was initiated by her. Now I know why. And because I was a naïve nineteen-year-old, at the first sign of his attention, I fell head over heels in love.
Pretty much what I’m doing right now.
“You aren’t missing much,” he says, lifting a shoulder. “Just a bunch of people getting drunk and doing dumb shit.” He sighs before taking another sip of his drink, wincing at what I can only assume is the burn of the alcohol.
Maybe I’d like to do dumb shit for once. Like kiss this man I’ve known for all of five minutes.
I’m not sure he realises I can’t take my eyes off him because when he blows out a breath, his shoulders slump forward and a vacant expression crosses his face as he stares at the glass he’s now spinning in his hands.
