Page 65 of Pulse
“You don’t think I worked for it?”
“No.”
“Okay.Do you have any idea how hard it has been to work with you every motherfucking day for the past two years and try to pretend you’re just another girl?”
I scoff. “That’s not working for it. That’s workingnotfor it or something.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Yes, it does,” I say. “You were actively working onnothooking up with me. That’s not workingfor it, Castelli.”
His chest rises and falls, moving me with it.
“I want to be clear about something,” he says, his tone somber.
“What?”
“This wasn’t a hookup.”
My chest fills with a warmth that’s so unexpected that I squirm.
“I warned you. I?—”
“Oh, I remember. I wanted fucked, and you wanted to have a conversation about condoms, and work complications, and sexually transmitted diseases, and?—”
“It’s called being responsible.”
I look back at him and smile. “I know. And, honestly, I love that you did all those things. It makes me feel …”
He pulls me snugly against him again. “It makes you feel what?”
Loved.
The word echoes through my brain, but I know I can’t say it. It’s ridiculous to think it. Saying it would be asinine. I’m not the kind of girl who thinks she loves a guy the first time they have sex. I didn’t tell Freddy I loved him, and we dated for months.
Besides, I don’t love Troy. I can’t love Troy. I don’t know him well enough to love him.
Don’t be stupid, Dahlia.
“Valued,” I say, plucking a word out of the air. “It makes me feel valued.”
“You should always feel valued.”
I grin. “I really felt valued when you had your fist in my hair and was railing me from behind.”
He chuckles. The sound makes my grin grow even bigger.
“What do you mean when you say this wasn’t a hookup?” I ask, my stomach fluttering. “What does that look like?”
“It looks like if Theo calls you again to chitchat about Wednesday office snacks, he’ll be eating his food through a fucking straw.”
“Stop it,” I say, laughing.
“I fucking mean it.”
I lean up and scoot around so my back is on the other side of the tub and I’m facing Troy. He’s not smiling, or laughing, or at all amused. And, my lord,it’s hot.
“You can’t do that,” I say. “We work together. He’s probably going to call me sometimes.”
